


The Ghost of You it Keeps Me Awake

by ab2fsycho



Series: I'm the Chip You're the Dip [1]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Abuse, Blood, Body Horror, CHAPTER 7 IS MOST GRAPHIC, Dipper and Mabel are older, EXTREME MANIPULATION, F/M, I Cannot Stress that Enough, M/M, Manipulation, Nightmares, Stalking, bill is extremely controlling, but i can guarantee there will be blood and teeth pulling, but this is a very very very not good relationship, he becomes obsessed with dipper, if you don't like any of what i mentioned PLEASE DON'T READ, it will end happily for someone though, perhaps some wendip in the future, that is the good news, this is all sorts of unhealthy, this is always going to be one-sided, trigger warning, with a plot twist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-17
Updated: 2015-01-10
Packaged: 2018-02-21 13:41:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 12
Words: 47,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2470307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ab2fsycho/pseuds/ab2fsycho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Six years of visiting Gravity Falls, Dipper and Mabel decide to spend their last year in high school together with Grunkle Stan. Dipper expected many things to happen, but not to be visited by a particular dream demon.</p><p>And Dipper didn't expect him to become obsessed with the young man he used to call Pine tree.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. You're Gonna Go Far Kid

**Author's Note:**

> I am writing this because it's going to ruin the ship in my head if I don't get it out. If you have not read my tags or warnings TURN BACK NOW AND READ THEM. That's an order. Yes, I have that authority don't look at me like I'm small.

The dream started off simple, innocent. He and Mabel were twelve again, taking down the Gideon-bot (because let's face it, there isn't really a better name for it). The gnomes were there for some reason, though they had run off long before that scene had taken place in reality. Wendy was watching and she was . . . impressed was putting it lightly. He distinctly saw her pupils take the shape of hearts, and that definitely cued him in on the fact that he was dreaming. As if the rest hadn't been enough, that is.

But Gravity Falls tended to be full of things that most would only see in such dreams. In a way, that was why Dipper and Mabel always came back. Six years they'd been spending their summers with Grunkle Stan. He couldn't recall who it was that decided they wanted to spend a school year in Gravity Falls before they parted for whatever college they chose, but he had thought it was a wonderful idea. That was about to change, as fate would have it.

The first few weeks had been relatively uneventful. His dreams had been typical. This dream was typical. But then everything darkened. Literally everything. The woods and train tracks faded into darkness and he could feel his feet leaving the ground. He was floating in the inky dark and couldn't see anything. He took that back. He could see himself clearly. Looking down, he was no longer his twelve-year-old self. He was as he was now, only he was still wearing the clothes he'd worn as a twelve-year-old. The clothes fit well, and they felt . . . surprisingly comfortable. It was almost nostalgic. Staring out into the thick darkness he squinted. What was his mind doing? It didn't feel like he was falling. It didn't feel like the bottomless pit. He was just . . . floating, suspended in midair. He was tempted to start doing back flips, though he knew good and well that back flips were more Mabel's thing than his. She'd forced him to do them enough that the very idea of doing one of his own volition sort of sat wrong with him even now.

“Hello?” he called out. His voice didn't echo. It was like the inky black just absorbed his voice. Cupping his hands over his mouth he called out again, “Hello!” The last syllable lasted perhaps a second longer than he had intended, the word louder and more forceful than before. No answer. No echo. His mind was starting to feel . . . empty.

But he was wrong. It was far from empty. “Hello, Pine tree.”

Dipper felt everything within himself come to a grinding halt. Suddenly the black started to reveal shapes and his feet were on the ground again. He was in the attic of Grunkle Stan's house, his and Mabel's room. It looked exactly the same as it typically did, only everything was leaning slightly to the left. The very world seemed tilted, and yet he was standing straight and unfazed by this obvious difference. The light wasn't normal either, per say. The rays that poured in through the triangular window were a mixture of red, blue, and purple, neither of which looked the least bit natural. It took him a few moments to realize that the one who'd uttered the words had not shown his face. Spinning around, he searched the tilted room. He could very vividly feel the hair on his arms and neck begin to rise. He could distinctly feel his lungs heaving and heart thrashing against his ribcage. His eyes were wide, and the layout did little to help his situation. He stared at his ajar surroundings and was surprised at his own lack of dizziness.

Perhaps he shouldn't have addressed the source of the words directly. Perhaps he should have focused on waking up. But he didn't. Dipper called out, “Where are you?” completely ignoring his gut reaction to the voice.

There was a laugh. _The_ laugh. His laugh. He knew that laugh. Facing the window, he shouldn't have been surprised to see an eye staring back at him through the glass. Glaring, he felt the racing of his heart intensify as something that resembled annoyance blossomed within him. 

The triangle-shaped individual passed through the glass with ease, holding his hands up almost serenely as he declared, “My my, Pine tree! Would you look at what you've grown into.”

Dipper took a few steps back, feeling his face and hands heat up. “What are you doing here?” Because Bill Cipher never showed his face unless he wanted something. Usually that something was detrimental to the Pines family's well-being.

Bill looked up, feigning as much innocence as he was capable of. Clicking his tongue (where the hell even was his tongue really), he said, “You sound so unhappy to see me. And to think I took precious time out of my day to see you.”

Dipper grew impatient. Balling his fists, he snapped, “What do you want?”

“Now now,” Bill said, wiggling a finger at Dipper. The scornful gaze Bill gave him made Dipper straighten up. “Don't get testy with me, kid. I'm more powerful in the mindscape.”

Dipper snorted. “So am I. Remember?” To prove his point, he closed his eyes and shrugged. When he opened his eyes, the world was no longer leaning left. A few loud bumps and creaks, and the attic had righted itself. He grinned, pleased with his work.

Bill flashed red before closing his eye and sighing. When he finished sighing, the world slipped right back into the tilt with a thud, this time actually knocking Dipper off-balance enough so that he fell flat on his rear. Dipper groaned at the impact. “I always liked you kid, although I can't fathom why at the moment. You have a habit of grating on my last nerve.”

“Look, just tell me why you're here. Did I make someone angry enough to summon you to deal with me?” It seemed unlikely. He hadn't done anything risky of late, simply because the family was getting tired of his abnormal obsessions.

“Fortunately for you, no.” Then Bill flew forward so that he was inches from Dipper's face. Dipper almost shouted. “I just wanted to see what had become of the bothersome little brat I once possessed.”

“Aren't you omnipotent or something? Couldn't you have figured that out, what, from a distance?”

“That's no fun, Pine tree. Besides, you summoned me here.”

Dipper's brow furrowed. “What? No I didn't.”

Bill laughed again. “Ah, you're killing me tonight, aren't you?”

Would that it was that easy. “I didn't summon you!”

“Yes you did . . . wait.” Bill scratched under his hat. “Hmm . . . no, I guess you didn't.” Before Dipper could say he was right or something akin to that, Bill snapped his fingers and pointed at him, “But you were about to!” Dipper opened his mouth to speak, but suddenly the floor gave beneath him and he fell through it. He didn't land on the first floor of the house, but on the stage where Mabel's sock opera had taken place. The stage itself was empty, save for a younger version of his twin and himself—no, not himself—running in circles. Mabel was cradling the journal, mere inches out of reach of his possessed body. He shuddered at the eyes that were his yet not his, watching the two individuals run in circles around him completely unaware of his presence. They ran and ran, like they were on a broken record. He actually jumped and gasped when Bill's voice murmured in his ear. “Ah, memories.”

Shivering from how close Bill was, he took a few steps forward and turned to face the demon. “I hardly call this summoning. You can go now.”

“My goodness, just listen to how deep and serious your voice is now.” Bill's arms started waving as he mimicked Dipper's vocals almost perfectly. “'Why are you here? Aren't you omnipotent or something? Leave me alone!'”

“I didn't say that.”

A literal light bulb went off above Bill's head before disappearing as quickly as it appeared. “That's right! You didn't!” Bill flew at him then, making Dipper scream as he shut his eyes. No impact came. Bill's body passed right through him, the contact sending electrical charges through him that were powerful enough to send him to his knees. “So you won't be upset if I don't leave you alone.”

Dipper coughed, trying and failing to regain his composure or what little he'd had. Glaring at the demon, he croaked out, “No.”

“No you won't? Okay!”

“Yes, I will!” Dipper shouted past the tenseness in his throat.

Bill flew at him again, and Dipper flinched. Bill stopped, hovering just in front of him. “Well, that's mighty rude of you kid. You invite me here and then you get upset at my company.”

“I didn't invite—”

“And I was so hoping some manners had grown with those good looks you got now! Can't have everything you want, I guess.” Dipper's eyes widened at the words Bill had just spoken. Good looks? Him? His face flushed and he felt his knees drawing themselves to his chest and his shoulders slumping. Discomfort clouded his vision and the scene began to blur around him. When Bill spoke again, Dipper winced at the volume of his voice, “Oh that's right! I _can_!”

Bill neared him again, and Dipper was forced to shut his eyes. He couldn't keep his hands still. When had he started shaking like this? “Leave me alone!”

“Ah, _that's_ where I heard that line! But no. I don't think I will.”

Dipper could feel him getting closer, could feel the electricity of the demon's presence. Eyelids deceiving him, he opened them slightly to see the room itself was spinning around them. Little Mabel and possessed Dipper ran counterclockwise while the room spun clockwise, making his eyes hurt. The only things that remained still were himself and Bill. That did wonders on his growing discomfort, which was steadily devolving into anxiety. Focus, Dipper, he thought. Focus. He grasped for words, trying desperately to think of something to make Bill leave. “I bet . . . I bet you're not even real right now. You're just a,” he faltered, “you're just a figment of my imagination.”

Bill started flashing between bright yellow and a duller gold rapidly, the shifting of color and the spinning room and people making him sicker and sicker. “Then why don't you banish me, kid?”

Yeah, why didn't he? With that option on the table, he took the bait. Focusing, glaring at the floating triangle, he tried desperately. But his body froze and his blood ran cold when nothing happened. That could only mean one thing.

Bill was real. He was really there.

And he didn't look at all pleased with Dipper's attempts to get rid of him. His body reddened, but his eye remained mirthful. Dipper hadn't thought that possible, and honestly the implications made him shiver more. Kicking away from the demon, he muttered halfheartedly, “I don't want you here. I . . . un-summon you! Go! Leave!”

“Don't kid yourself, Pine tree. I'm here just as much because I claim you summoned me as I want to be here.” Dipper's eyes widened. “And you thought I was just going to tell you right off the bat? You're still quite dumb, now, aren't you?”

Dipper lost his temper at that. Shivering gone, he leaned forward into his insult, “Quit messing around, you stupid Dorito! I don't care why you're here anymore! I just want you to leave!”

Bill's eye widened and went black. His body aflame, Dipper knew he had misspoken. With the demon glaring at him, he could do little more than watch him grow angrier. Finally, Bill's now deeper and reverberating voice echoed, “So you're not going to take me seriously in this form?” He didn't give Dipper enough time to answer, the question sounding more like a statement anyway. “Then let's try something new, shall we?”

Dipper's jaw dropped as the demon morphed before him. His organs felt constricted as he watched the familiar triangular being slide effortlessly into a more humanoid form, head bowed so he couldn't see his face. Though the form was meant to be human, his arms and legs were disproportionately long. Gloved fingers were long and spindly, arachnidactyl in appearance. The demon was clad in a tux, shirt and bow tie patterned to match his original form. Shocks of blonde hair were just visible beneath the now larger top hat. Dipper didn't want to see Bill's face, didn't want to see what had become of it. When the demon straightened up, Dipper's mouth was agape and primed for another much louder scream. Bill Cipher still only had one eye in the center of his forehead, but it was now complimented with a nose, a pair of pointed ears, and an equally large, fanged grin.

Dipper's nails dug into the wooden floor, and he could just barely feel one nail bend backwards. Bill tilted his head at Dipper's slack jaw and wide eyes, as if the look fascinated him. Taking a large step towards Dipper, a shout was ripped from the young man's lungs before he could stop himself. Kicking away only made Bill take longer strides towards him and the spinning room made him feel like he was falling, especially when he realized that instead of kicking into the fray around him the room seemed to move with them. The motions made him sick, the demon advancing on him making him sicker. When Bill's strides finally brought him to stand over Dipper, he screamed up at him, “Leave me alone!” It was no longer a demand, but a plea.

“You don't like my new body?” Bill's voice was teasing, disgustingly jovial. Dipper shuddered and unleashed an involuntary whimper as he caught sight of a thick, forked tongue running along the backside Bill's newly formed fangs. “Perhaps I should add another pair of arms—”

“No! This is fine.” Dipper was sweating, cold water running down his temples and accentuating the raised hair on the back of his neck.

“Are you sure?” Bill then unfolded another set of arms from behind his back. At that, Dipper screamed and rolled over in an attempt to get up and run. His world finally stopped spinning, the running Mabel and possessed Dipper suspended in midair as everything froze. He had just gotten his feet under himself when not two, but four hands grabbed his arms and waist. He let out another undignified scream as he was thrown into the empty seats of the audience. The impact left him gasping for breath and wishing he'd thought to conjure weapons, armor, anything to fight the monster he was now facing. Though he knew he was capable of doing just that, everything inside him was so crippled from terror he couldn't even form a coherent sentence in his own head. Pulling himself up from between two seats to settle in one, his eyes bugged out and mouth went ajar again as Bill perched himself above him. With two hands on the seats behind Dipper, two hands on either side of Dipper, and knees bent as the demon crouched on the seats in front of him, the young man was effectively caged. Every time he even thought about moving, the demon leaned and moved with him until he was forced to remain still. Eventually Dipper went rigid in his seat and gazed wide-eyed up at what had become of Bill Cipher in terror. His hands gripped the edge of his seat until his knuckles were white and he grit his teeth in an effort to keep quiet until it hurt. Finally, Bill leaned forward so that his face was inches from Dipper's. Closing his eyes, he flinched at the scentless breath across his face. “That's better, Pine tree. You just sit right there and listen.” Dipper shook his head, keeping his eyes closed. Wake up, man, he told himself. Wake up and get out of this. “Look at me when I'm talking to you!” Dipper gasped and shook at the hand that grabbed his chin and forced him to stare into Bill's eye. The impossibly long fingers that clutched his face were so hot he actually thought they were burning his skin. “You and I both know your family has a nasty habit of getting in my way. I'd appreciate it if you curbed that habit.”

Dipper's voice was small and trembling when he pointed out, “I haven't seen you in years.” His voice didn't sound right. It sounded like he was twelve again. Perhaps because what he was saying was technically not true.

“While you have a point, I'm electing to ignore it. Consider this preemptive planning. I slap you on the wrist now so you'll behave later.”

“Done! Got it!” Dipper cried out, voice cracking.

“Good. Glad we've got that worked out so nicely.” Dipper sighed as the fingers left his face, waves of chills passing over his skin in shocks. Closing his eyes, he realized the shadow wasn't disappearing. Opening his eyes again, he found Bill was still staring down at him. Dipper cringed, shrinking in on himself as Bill's head tilted again like he was observing him. Why wasn't he leaving? Hadn't he gotten what he wanted?

There was a moment where Dipper thought the demon was finally turning to leave. Instead, the young man felt one of the large hands removing his hat while another reached for his face. “Stop! What are you—?”

“Hair,” came a quiet musing he wasn't sure Bill meant for him to hear. Dipper jerked away as those insanely long digits combed through his ruffled hair. He started pulling away, but was stopped when Bill's second pair of hands pinned his upper arms to the back of the chair. Dipper squeaked, bony fingers and the plastic arms of the chair biting into his arms. His chest quivered, his accelerated heart rate paining him. What's worse was that Bill was now leaning forward and burying his nose in Dipper's hair, mouth dangerously close to Dipper's face. Dipper resisted the urge to squirm, afraid it might prompt Bill to retaliate in some cruel way. As it was, he was shaking uncontrollably in the grip of the demon as said demon inhaled whatever it was that had fascinated him about Dipper's hair.

“Please wake up, please wake up,” he repeated over and over to himself, unaware his lips were moving.

Bill paused in his carding of Dipper's hair, and the young man's eye was close enough to the demon's mouth that when he smiled Dipper saw the tongue again, flicking behind sharp teeth. “You forget my reach doesn't end here.” Pulling back, he added, “I can find you, whether in dreamscape or reality.”

The words were not threats. No, they were promises. This only made Dipper more desperate to awaken from the dream. “Wake up wake up wake up!” he said a little louder to himself.

“Oh Pine tree,” Bill crooned, “you may be grown, but you're still that little kid whose curiosity endangered his family time and again.” Fangs flashed, grazing Dipper's cheek and making him whine. “I can't wait to see what you'll cause next.”

Dipper screamed as something hit his cheek. Sitting bolt upright in his bed, he saw the morning rays pouring in through the window of the attic. His heart was still racing, and he was still shivering. Cradling his chest with his hands, it took him a moment to realize Mabel was standing over him with a pillow clutched in both hands. He jumped, crying out, “What are you doing?!”

“You wouldn't stop groaning in your sleep, you creepy boy!” she spat. He looked away, feeling the urge to tuck his knees against his chest. He succeeded in resisting. When she spoke again, her voice was calmer. “Nightmares?” Before he could stop himself, he nodded. “Was it . . . Bill?”

He managed to keep still enough at the mention. He actually shook his head without arousing suspicion. When she didn't question any further, he knew she believed him.

Mabel knew he'd dreamt of Gravity Falls often, and some of those dreams included Bill. He'd hoped that would change upon returning to Gravity Falls. But no. It seemed getting closer to the place where his encounters had occurred had only made it worse. Besides, if he told her what he'd seen now, he would then have to admit that Bill had been real this time.

And he'd promised himself not to get them in trouble long before Bill had confronted him. As Bill had said, Dipper's shenanigans had almost gotten them killed several times. He would have to keep that promise, even if it meant lying to Mabel.

____________________________

Bill removed the glove from the hand that had tangled with Pine tree's hair, staring at the fingers that had come so close to the brunette locks. He recalled the scent as though the kid were still right there with him. Squinting, he felt a sensation boiling within him, one he hadn't felt in a very long time. Grinding his teeth, he found he couldn't pull away from the now fraying remnants of Dipper's dream. Balling his bare hand into a fist, he secured his current form for future use. Because whether the kid liked it or not, he was going to see him again. He had to know what had become of the twelve-year-old brat who'd come too close to defeating him. The thought still made him uncomfortable. It still angered him.

Somehow the memory of tangled brown hair mixed with that anger and turned into something else. Some voice from long ago told him to squelch the sensation now before it grew. However, he was never one to take orders.


	2. Beggin' for Thread

“This one.”

“No.”

“This one.”

“Nope.”

“What about this one?”

“Nuh uh.”

“You can't say no to—”

“Absolutely not.”

Mabel slammed the yearbook she'd borrowed from Grenda shut. “Dipper, really?!”

He shrugged. “I just . . .,” he exhaled loudly through his nose. “I'm not interested, okay?”

“Dipper Pines, Homecoming weekend is coming up and you are going to have a date to the dance whether you like it or not!”

He rolled his eyes. “I'm not interested, Mabel.”

“Well, I am.” She opened the book again and propped it up so her face was concealed. He could just barely make out the words, “You'd be interested if Wendy was available.”

“Excuse me?” he uttered.

“What's that?” she asked innocently, peeking over the top of the yearbook.

“What did you just say?”

“Nothing.” Her tone lost its mock innocence once he threw his spoon at her. “Hey!” She picked up her fork, prepared to respond in kind.

“Cut it out! How old are the two of you supposed to be again?” Grunkle Stan ordered from the stove, where he was making breakfast. There was a pause where Mabel set her fork back down. Then he asked, “No really, how old are you two?”

“Grunkle Stan,” Mabel half-scorned, a grin creeping across her face.

As he brought their omelets to their plates, he glanced at Dipper. Dipper's chin rested in his hand, eyelids half-closed and eyes glazed. “Quick, Mabel. Get me a magic marker.”

“Why?”

“So I can be prepared when Dipper falls out on the table.”

Dipper shook his head, trying to regain some of the energy he'd had when throwing the spoon at his sister. “Quit it, guys.”

“Not sleeping well, kid?” Grunkle Stan asked.

“No, I'm okay.”

“Liar liar, ass on fire!” Mabel interrupted.

“Shut up!” Dipper cried.

“Language!” Grunkle Stan shouted simultaneously.

“Dipper groans so loud in his sleep that he wakes me up,” she blurted out.

“Mabel!” He picked up another utensil and would have thrown it at her head had Grunkle Stan not taken it from his hand.

“This conversation just ventured into territory I refuse to explore. Keep these things to yourselves.”

“No, but—”

“Mabel, no,” Dipper ordered.

“Soos!” Grunkle Stan called out.

“Yeah boss,” the other answered from the other side of the house.

“You're driving the kids to school today. They're talking teenager things that I'm too old to engage in.”

“You got it, Mr. Pines.”

Grunkle Stan left them with their breakfast. Dipper stared at his plate of food, trying to figure out how to eat with just a knife. When he looked up, he found Mabel glaring at him. “What?”

“I've got a feeling you should tell Grunkle Stan about your nightmares.”

Dipper's eyes widened, his answer immediate. “No!”

“Why not? What harm could it do?”

“Mabel, that's a dumb question.” She knew damn well what sort of harm could befall them.

“You're not sleeping though.”

“I'm fine, Mabel.”

She squinted suspiciously. “Promise?”

He nodded. “Promise.”

She began eating, chewing her food slowly as she thought. When he finally figured out how best to use his knife, she handed him her spoon. Taking it from her, she asked, “Would a monster hunt after classes make you feel better?”

A chill ran through him, startling him so much that the spoon slipped from his hand. He clumsily caught it with his other hand before shaking his head at her. “No. I've . . . sworn off the paranormal.”

That elicited the most skeptical look he'd ever seen Mabel conjure. “Why would you do that? That's, like, the opposite of what Dipper Pines would do. Are you Dipper? Where's my brother?”

“Knock it off, okay. I just don't think we should. Not . . . not anymore.”

He started eating, shoveling the food into his mouth to keep from saying anymore. She watched him as he did this. She continued watching even as she finished eating. When she was done, she picked up her plate and tossed it in the sink. Leaving him to the rest of his breakfast, she pointed at him as she went to meet Soos without him. “This isn't normal. Not for you. I'll be watching you.”

He gripped his utensils as she left, a hint of disbelief creeping in at her choice of words. Shaking his head, he tried to ignore how his breaths were becoming more shallow. He went to finish his breakfast, but found that he'd lost his appetite. Dropping his spoon and knife onto the plate, he got up to discard the rest of the uneaten meal. As he set the plate and silverware in the sink, he felt fingers grazing the nape of his neck and playing with his hair. Jerking away, he spun about with wide eyes and a curse at the ready. There was no one. He was alone in the kitchen.

His eyes searched every nook and cranny of the room as his shaky hand reached up to clasp the back of his neck and hair, like that would protect him. His free hand gripped the edge of the counter, knuckles pale and palm aching from the pressure. He began questioning what he'd felt, no matter how real the sensation had seemed. Surely the culprit he suspected would have boasted catching him off guard. But he saw nothing. He continued staring for a few minutes, willing the culprit to appear. When he was certain that he would see nothing despite his best efforts, he rushed to meet with Mabel and Soos. Though he managed to appear normal in their presence, he couldn't quell the rapid beating of his heart after that experience.

 

Human lives were so monotonous, especially the lives of teenagers. He'd thought adults were boring. Yeesh. But it was worth it to watch Pine tree cringe at every shadow and shifting of light. Who knew the kid was so sensitive? Unlike most humans, he knew to also look up when suspecting danger. Funny how a human will spin in circles looking for the source of a threat but never look up or down. Dipper looked everywhere. The kid was a product of Gravity Falls and Bill knew it.

Bill was a patient demon. Being a demon required patience. One had to wait for the right idiot to come along and summon them, and they had to escape when the opportunity presented itself. Bill had done just that. He'd been patient. Gravity Falls was all but his, but he was still somewhat confined to the mindscape. Somewhat.

Not for long.

He had a plan. He'd always had a plan. The Pines family had managed to elude him somehow the past few years. He suspected it was the books. Or perhaps their growing lack of interest in the paranormal. Dipper had not sought out anything truly unusual in a long while, hence why Bill hadn't really noticed him. It felt like he'd turned his back on the nuisance for a second and once he caught a glimpse of Pine tree again . . . he couldn't take his eye off him. The kid had changed so much. He wasn't the awkward little tween anymore. No, he was grown and he had filled out nicely. Impossibly nicely. There was no logic in it. 

He followed Pine tree throughout the day, some excitement growing every time the young man yawned. With each yawn, he prayed he'd fall asleep in class. That would be fun. He didn't pay attention to the classroom the teen was in, only to the way his interest in the lessons continued to deteriorate throughout the day. It was in second block his focus was at its weakest. His eyes fluttered closed and his head began tilting back. Hats weren't allowed in school (bless school dress codes) and so Bill got a clear look at Dipper's head of hair. The brown curls twisted in every direction, uncombed and unkempt. The pattern was mesmerizing. One strand stuck up no matter how much Pine tree pushed it down, which he did rather often without realizing. Bill could just reach out and touch the lock . . . .

As soon as his long fingers brushed the cowlick, Dipper came awake with a gasp. Bill laughed aloud watching the teen grip his desk till his knuckles whitened, knowing no one could hear him. The class instructor called to him, “Mr. Pines, do you have an answer?”

“Mr. Pines,” Bill chuckled the words to himself. “Mr. Pines is his uncle.” He had no idea why that tickled him so much.

Dipper hesitated, looking at the map the teacher was pointing at. Not so smoothly, he muttered out, “The . . . the Andes?”

The teacher squinted, knowing he'd given the correct answer but only out of dumb luck. “Alright. I'll let that slide.”

“Ugh,” Bill snorted. “Mountain ranges. Those aren't important.” Not to him, at least.

And unfortunately, Dipper remained bolt upright in his seat the rest of the day. Bill wasn't even sure the kid was blinking, his eyes were always so wide. When Shootin' star met with him at the end of the day, even she noticed how stiff Pine tree was. Question mark noticed, too, which was an even bigger surprise. Sometimes Bill forgot Question mark even had observational skills.

He didn't really pay attention to the conversation. It was hardly a conversation. All Dipper did was rattle off various versions of the word no. When he was finally left alone, he sat up on the rooftop where he and Red used to spend lots of time. With his back to the shingles, he lay unflinchingly still. It was incredible how still he could be. Usually at that age one couldn't wear down the energy of a teen, but he just stared up at the sky. His eye twitched every now and then, so Bill knew he was thinking. Reaching out, he was about to attempt to touch a stray part of Pine tree's bangs when Dipper sighed and closed his eyes. Then the young man said, “I know you're there, already. Please . . . just leave me alone.”

How fascinating, Bill thought. Watching Pine tree roll over onto his side and curl up, he was tempted to listen. Dipper even asked politely.

But Bill couldn't. No matter how much he told himself it was a good idea, he couldn't even listen to himself. There was something he was missing, something gnawing at his innards. He couldn't put his finger on it, but maybe if he hovered around long enough the answer would come to him.

He'd felt the ticking of a clock even before Pine tree had struck his fancy.

 

Dozing off had been easy, even though he knew the threat that lay within the mindscape. Sure enough he was there waiting for Dipper, hovering menacingly above him. He jumped, managing to withhold a scream at the sight of the smiling demon.

“Does my presence bother you, Pine tree?” he asked playfully.

Dipper glared up at the demon, trying not to shiver at the monstrous form he'd taken. “It hasn't even been a day,” he muttered. “I've given you my word. Now what do you want?”

“What do you call this? This suspicion? This distrust?” Well, those were some pretty good words to use. “Do you think I have ulterior motives, Pine tree?”

“Stop calling me that,” Dipper growled. “And of course you do. You always do.”

Bill floated back into a stricken position, covering his chest with two of his hands. “What is happening here? Do you think I intend to use you for something?” Dipper didn't answer. He remained seated, glaring at the demon. Bill's eye lit up, his smile going from mirthful to utterly frightening. Bill landed on the rooftop in front of Dipper, walking slowly and casually towards him. If Dipper weren't already pressed against the shingles, he would be crawling backward. “Oh, please.” Bill reached a hand forward, making Dipper flinch and hit his head in an attempt to lean back. He shivered as Bill's glove-less hand traced a line up his jaw towards his hairline. “Is it true what your sister says?”

Dipper shook. “Wh-what?”

“Do you dream of me often, Pine tree?” Everything inside Dipper went cold and heavy. His eyes shot open as he stared directly at Bill, who watched him with an expression that made Dipper want to throw up. “Of course you don't really need to answer that. I can simply look.” Dipper's lungs began working overtime. As Bill combed his clawed fingers through his hair, nails grazing his scalp, Dipper hyperventilated. “So afraid. It's quite . . . disappointing.”

“Please,” Dipper gasped out, squeezing his eyes shut. “Please. Just . . . leave me alone.”

Bill's claws dug slightly into his head, Dipper gritting his teeth and shrinking down. Bill let out an exaggerated sigh. “You can't even fight me right now, can you?”

“Why are you doing this?”

Bill did not answer for a long time. For a moment, Dipper felt his hand begin to leave his hair. He hoped against hope he would leave, prayed he would go away. Just as he thought he might get his wish, Bill's hand went from retreating to gripping his hair fiercely. Dipper's jaw dropped and a squeak escaped his traitorous throat. His hands flew up to grip Bill's hand as the demon lifted him up off the roof. “Pine tree,” he crooned. “Pine tree Pine tree Pine tree,” Dipper's feet left the ground, feet kicking the air as Bill rose to his full height in this form with him. “Under the current circumstances, I have no real reason to torment you. As you said, you've given me your word. Therefore, I'll leave you alone. You have _my_ word.” He brought Dipper closer, face inches from his. His breath blew across Dipper's face and Dipper was forced to close his eyes. “But I can promise you: you're gonna need me in the future. You're gonna need me, and I'm gonna help you. Willingly.”

“I don't want anything from you. I will _never_ want anything from you.” It was hard to maintain his seriousness when his hair was slowly separating from his scalp. 

Bill clicked his tongue thrice. “Oh, but you will need me. And when I help you, you will owe me. You better believe, I will be back to collect.” 

“I won't summon you. It will never happ—,” he choked on his words when two of Bill's hands reached up to cup his face. The pain in his head was distracting, but the threat of Bill's hands being so near his throat was paralyzing. His eyes locked with Bill's, wide and pleading. Bill leered back at him, talons grazing against the veins in his neck. Dipper felt his eyes grow wet. 

“I'll be back. But for now,” thumbs pressed against Dipper's Adam's apple, “I'll leave you alone.” Something wet pressed against Dipper's cheek before Bill released him. 

Dipper dropped onto the chair, the impact waking him up. He sat bolt upright, still very vividly feeling the hands on his throat. 

He couldn't move for a moment. Then, before he knew what he was doing, he was running through the shack to his room. Throwing books off his and Mabel's shelves, he made a complete mess until he found the one he was looking for: the journal. Gripping it in both hands, he ran downstairs in search of the one person he knew would keep it safe. When he found him, he all but shoved it at Grunkle Stan. “Hide this!” he croaked out. 

“Whoa, kid,” Grunkle Stan grunted. “You're just giving me this?” 

“Hide it,” Dipper reiterated, letting Grunkle Stan take it from him. “I . . .,” he fought to regain his breath. He couldn't stop shaking. Everything within him was slowly thawing and racing back into action and it was painful. 

“What's the matter, you picked on the wrong fairy tale creature or somethin'?” Grunkle Stan asked. 

You could say that, Dipper thought. But he wasn't about to tell his uncle that said creature was a demon named Bill Cipher. And he wasn't about to tell him that he was handing over the journal in an effort to ensure that he never, not even once, accidentally summoned the bastard. “I,” he huffed, then elected to say, “yeah. Yeah, gremloblin.” That was always his fallback creature for some reason. 

And Grunkle Stan believed him. Scrunching up his face, he said, “Oo, nasty. What the heck, kid?” 

“Yeah, I know. Stupid. And I've sworn off the supernatural anyway. I can't keep,” he slowed down when he realized there was no one holding talons to his neck anymore, “doing this.” He still felt them. Dear God, he still felt the claws. 

But Grunkle Stan believed him and took the journal. Dipper let out the air that had been trapped in his lungs and said goodbye to the last thing tying him to his childhood monster hunts. When he was alone, he wrapped his arms around himself and tried desperately to forget the feeling of something wet pressed against his cheek. He tried to forget the fingers on his throat, the hand in his hair. He tried to forget it all. 

Bill had said he'd leave him alone. He'd given him his word. And if he never summoned him, then he would never see him again. Dipper was going to be fine. 

Then why did he feel like he was being cornered? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You haven't turned back yet, so I assume you like this midnight horror story my evil mind created. Can you tell I'm not happy with myself? Well, if you're happy and glad to be creeped out then I'll shut up. I labeled this thing full of warnings.


	3. Gun

True to his word, Bill did not return to any of his dreams. Dipper got the best rest he'd had in what felt like years, and after a time he stopped being afraid to go to sleep. That was a first. He truly had not expected to lose that fear. He didn't even wake up in cold sweats anymore, shaking and gasping for air. The one thing that lingered was his inability to stop flinching at shadows that loomed over him.

One such shadow caused him to turn wide-eyed to an overjoyed Mabel one day. “Dipper Dipper Dipper!”

“Okay,” Dipper started, voice a little shaky, “I'm gonna need you to calm down.”

She stopped bouncing, looking down at him with a sly grin. “Jeez, bro-bro. Jumpy much?”

He didn't think he'd jumped. He didn't think his reaction was that strong. Shaking his head and trying not to think about it, he sighed and said, “What is it?”

She bit her lip, hardly able to contain herself. “I've got,” she threw her hands up, as if about to shout 'tada', “a date!”

Dipper smiled up at his twin. “That's great! Wait,” he held up his hands, ready to tick off a list on his fingers, “gnomes?”

“Nope!”

“Vampire?”

“Nuh-uh!”

“Zombie?”

“Not supernatural in the slightest!”

“You're absolutely sure?”

“Yeah! You don't believe me, check the book.” Dipper's eye twitched, remembering where the book currently was. More specifically, he remembered why the book was where it was. 

Instead of revealing that piece of information, Dipper tried to smile again and reassure her, “I trust you.”

Mabel danced, shifting from one foot to another so quickly that he was totally unprepared for her to launch herself at him and hug him. “This is the first real date I've had in a long time!” she squealed.

Dipper wrapped his arms around his sister for balance more than to share in her excitement. Honestly he was terrified of who the new person was, who was trying to win his sister's heart. However, he just tried to be happy for her. That was all she really ever wanted: his support. “Just be careful,” he whispered. “Don't hesitate to tell me anything.”

“You bet, bro!” she cried, running out of the room.

In that moment, he felt like the biggest hypocrite to have ever lived. Situating himself so that he had his back to the wall and eyes towards the door, he couldn't help hating himself for lying to her. To be fair, he wasn't really lying. He was simply evading the truth, and it was for her safety to begin with. He had no idea what Bill would do to her, and he didn't want to find out. He could handle the demon should he return. He hoped.

No, the demon wasn't going to return. Dipper was making double sure of that. Still, he worried for Mabel. He worried what might become of her should Bill return, or should she find out about Bill. He worried what _she_ might do. He didn't trust Mabel to think rationally, and that hurt. It hurt thinking that he might not trust her as fully as he should.

What really hurt was how afraid he was of telling her what was going through his head. Staying quiet was not a gift the Pines family possessed. Dipper had to try, though. He couldn't tell anyone what was happening. He couldn't risk Bill returning for any reason whatsoever.

Burying his nose in his chemistry homework, he tried to focus on that. In a few days he'd have to test his knowledge of identifying elements and he wasn't wholly prepared to work a Bunsen burner. He didn't trust himself not to stare at the blue flames at the bottom too long and not imagine a particular triangle turned monster.

 

The clock in the distance was growing louder, and Bill was loath to admit that Pine tree was more resilient that he had previously been. Bill had tricked him before. He supposed that was why Dipper knew not to call on him.

But he was going to owe Bill. Bill knew this because he wouldn't give the kid a choice.

The kid thought he was alone, thought he was safe from Bill for now. Little did he know that Bill was still very much a part of his life. It was only a matter of time before the demon made his presence known again.

Only a matter of time. The clock was ticking after all.

A cell phone buzzed by Dipper's hand. Bill's attention went to the conversation the young man opened himself up to. A series of yeses and sures. Bill knew the conversation just as well as he knew what it would lead to. He didn't even need to hear the other individual at the other end of the line. All he needed to know was that Dipper was agreeing to an early meeting after school Tuesday.

The clock's ticking grew louder.

Only a matter of time. He had to be patient or else this wouldn't work.

 

Dipper struggled through Monday, studying and worrying about flunking the test. He knew he shouldn't be as concerned as he was. After all, sciences and maths were his strong suit. But something was putting him off about this particular test and he wasn't sure what. His other classes were going well so far, but alarms were going off in his head by the time he was sitting at lunch on Tuesday. He picked at his food, unable to eat because he was so focused on . . . he didn't even know what. His mind was completely blank, but it felt like wires were running through it and buzzing with electricity. His nerves were being jump started, but over what he simply did not know.

Was it just him, or was time moving slower?

 

Bill had never been so distracted by the sound of ticking clocks before. It was a fight to keep still, one that he was failing quite horribly. He wandered the mindscape aimlessly, jumping between where he could view Pine tree and other, much quieter planes. Pine tree was on edge too. He felt it, didn't he? He felt the ticking of the clock. Bill scratched his chin with his gloved hand. Fascinating. Why did the kid have to choose now to be so fascinating? Now when Bill needed to concentrate most.

Bill blinked, images of things to come blurring his vision momentarily. He closed his eye to focus more clearly, picking through the images he needed, the ones he deemed most important. A grin slid across his face. Yes. That was the image. That was the one he needed.

The clock's ticking persisted, but Bill was forming a plan. And he was faster than any clock.

 

Dipper waited in the chemistry room for the other students to show up after school. The teacher had left momentarily to go fetch something from the teacher's lounge. Looking over his notes, Dipper wiped at his nose. Something had smelled strange in the room since he had gotten there, but he tried to ignore it. Reading over his notes, he heard a scraping against what seemed like glass. Looking up and around, he eventually caught himself staring out the window. He saw nothing out of the ordinary, but didn't return immediately to his work. Instead he continued staring outside, wishing he were anywhere but here now that he thought about it. The leaves hadn't turned fully yet, but he was looking forward to the change. The woods of Gravity Falls were probably amazing this time of year. 

Shaking his head, he tried focusing on his chemistry materials again. Swiping at his nose once more, he got up. Figuring the teacher wouldn't mind if he opened a window, he drew the blinds of the window closest to his table and unlatched it. Just as he did so, he heard the echo of a laugh in the hallway behind him.

He knew the laugh. Spinning about, he froze and stared wide-eyed at the door to the classroom. Unable to breathe, he felt the hair on his arms raise and the pounding of his heart against his ribcage. It couldn't be. Bill couldn't possibly . . . .

He heard the laugh again, and quickly checked to make sure he was indeed awake. He pinched himself, gritting his teeth at how hard he'd actually done so. He was awake. Bill shouldn't be here. He couldn't be here. He gave him his word. But Bill had given Dipper his word before, and to say that that incident had gone bad was putting things lightly.

He almost jumped out of his skin when the students he was supposed to meet rounded the corner and entered the classroom. “What's up, Dip?” one cried out.

Shaking slightly, Dipper tried to play off his anxiety. Clearing his throat and straightening up, he said, “Not much. Trying to get ready for this test.”

“Same, bro,” another said as he moved to collect the items required to get started. Dipper was starting to feel the fear creeping into his skin. He tried to ignore it, but it was near impossible. It made him forget the very names of the people he was working with. He tried to play it off as they gathered the essentials, the one asking him, “Where's Ms. Sandstone?”

“She'll be back,” Dipper said, walking over to the others as they readied a Bunsen burner. He flinched as one student brought out the clicker and the other turned on the gas. Jesus, Dipper, he thought to himself. Get yourself together. You're going to be fine. “Shouldn't we wait for her?”

“Nah. Lighting this thing is easy. Wanna practice?” the student offered. Dipper hesitated, then shook his head. “Fine by me.”

The student argued with the clicker, which only put Dipper on edge more. By this time, the gas had been running for a little longer than necessary, and the student was struggling still. The odd smell intensified around Dipper, and he found himself taking a step back away from the gas and clicker in preparation for a possible explosion. He shook his head again, trying to focus. The gas hadn't been going long enough for a serious explosion, but something in his head was telling him to run. Alarms were buzzing and he couldn't quite tell why. Was it because he thought he'd heard Bill? That was probably it.

Something in his ears began ringing. No . . . was that . . . ticking?

“Pine tree!” The voice reverberated throughout his head, making him reach up to cover his ears. Opening his eyes again after flinching, he screamed as he saw Bill coming right at him. He had no time to duck. He had no time to respond. All he could do was brace as he was dragged by the arms across the room, out the window . . . .

And dropped from the second story.

Dipper remembered nothing else.

Nothing else but the shriek of alarms and a whooshing sound that he couldn't quite place or name.

When he came to, sirens were blaring in the distance. Face down in the grass, his whole body ached. His arms and hands felt cold, frozen almost. He tried to open his eyes, but his lids wouldn't budge. Nothing budged, and with good reason. Sound was the first thing he recognized. Sound and smell. And he smelled something burning. That thought finally allowed him to open his eyes. Pushing himself upright slowly, his senses were soon assaulted as the sirens he'd previously heard suddenly arrived right in front of him. Eyes half-lidded and pain lancing through every single muscle, his gaze locked with a fire engine.

That's when he remembered. Flipping over and staring up, everything inside him turned as he saw the classroom he'd been in what felt like minutes before in flames. Bile rose up in his throat as he stared, the light and from the fire burning his eyes to the point of tears. “Oh my God,” he uttered, throat hurting and vomit threatening to come out. He reached up to cover his mouth, but pulled his hand away as soon as he felt something wet on his palm. He looked, and discovered that part of his arm had been sliced open and was bleeding terribly. It was only that that he became aware of the glass he was lying on and beside. Glass from the open window.

At that point, Dipper could no longer hold back the bile.

 

Mabel disregarded every single emergency personnel that told her there was no running allowed on the scene. They tried to stop her, but she quickly dodged them and ignored everything they were saying. Even Grunkle Stan and Soos were yelling for her to slow down at this point.

She didn't stop until she found Dipper. When she did, she ran over to her blanketed brother and immediately pulled him into a tight hug. Chest tight and throat clenched, tears finally spilled forth from her eyes as she held him and assured herself that he was, in fact, still alive.

Her sobbing grew as he slowly wrapped his arms around her. Soon, Grunkle Stan was even holding both of them, Soos joining as well. It was Soos who said to Dipper, “Let us know when it gets too tight.” Even Soos's voice was cracking up.

“Thanks,” Dipper uttered, his voice much softer than Mabel's crying. Mabel wanted to stop, but the fear was still very much present inside of her.

She'd just known she'd lost her brother when a school official called and said there had been an explosion in one of the chemistry classrooms.

 

By the time Dipper had gotten to rest, he had spoken to several officers, doctors, nurses, and members of his family who had heard of or been told about the fire. Wendy even called to make sure he was alright. That was one call he hadn't been expecting but had survived nonetheless. Mabel wouldn't leave him alone. He was grateful. He wasn't sure he wanted to be alone either. He'd heard the emergency workers tell her, Grunkle Stan, and Soos that Dipper might suffer from some aftershocks of having been a part of such a catastrophe and to keep an eye on him for a few days. He wanted to correct her and tell them to keep an eye on him for the next few months, but he didn't.

He was tired of talking. The one person he really wanted to talk to was not there physically for him to berate and ask why. As soon as he fell asleep, though, he would be there. Dipper just knew.

The injuries he'd sustained (sprained wrist, sliced arm, overall soreness of the muscles from having fallen from the second story) were nonexistent in the mindscape. With that in mind, he immediately took off running through the familiar black and white woods and shouted, “What the hell, Bill?!” as soon as he hit a particular clearing.

Bill's laughter echoed through the woods, making the trees vibrate from the sound. Dipper covered his ears and squeezed his eyes shut at just how loud it seemed. His whole being shook when he opened his eyes again and saw Bill's monstrous form before him. “What indeed, Pine tree?”

“Did you,” Dipper choked on the words before they spilled out, “kill those guys?” Bill looked bored at the question, which only made Dipper furious. “Well, did you?!”

Bill stared at him for a moment before clasping all of his hands behind his back and pacing around him. “No. I did not.”

“You didn't . . . cause the explosion?” Dipper was surprised at that.

“No. An unmonitored gas leak caused it.” Dipper's nose itched as he recalled the strange scent that had permeated the room. “I know what you're thinking, Pine tree, and I'm surprised at you.” The leering note in Bill's voice made Dipper want to shudder. He was glad when he resisted. “Of all the ways to kill you, I would not do it by fire. My word, you are suspicious.” Bill stopped circling right behind Dipper. Dipper almost shrieked when Bill's mouth was suddenly beside his head, breath tickling his ear as the demon uttered, “Besides, I saved you. You owe me.”

Dipper had really hoped he'd imagined that part. Closing his eyes and spinning around, he shouted, “I didn't ask for your help!”

Bill towered over him, and he found himself questioning his courage. Or foolishness. Only a fool would shout at the demon Bill Cipher. But Bill's expression was smug, which only made Dipper's insides colder. “But you did,” Bill chuckled out. Then he looked up, as if remembering something. “In a way.”

“How?” Dipper asked. He'd given away the book. He'd avoided Bill at every turn he could think of. He hadn't even dreamed of Bill, so Bill couldn't accuse him of summoning the demon in his sleep. Just how had Bill outwitted him now?

Bill's eye crinkled as he chuckled. Snapping his fingers, an image popped up beside his fingers. Dipper gaped at the image of himself in the classroom. “You opened the window for me,” Bill responded as he showed Dipper doing just that. 

Dipper's hands cupped either side of his head. No. No, that wasn't right. “That . . . that's impossible. I didn't know you were there! I was opening it because—”

“Kid, I scraped and you answered. It's quite simple.” Bill's grin was sinister and Dipper feared turning away from him. He feared what Bill might do out of his sight. “Then we shook hands, you could say.”

Dipper glared. “You grabbed me and threw me out the window!”

“And it saved,” Bill took large steps over to him, forcing Dipper back, “your miserable,” he moved back further trying to get away from Bill, his back hitting a tree, “little life!” Bill's visible skin reddened, eye blackening as he declared, “You should be thanking me.”

“Thank you!” The words felt like needles in his gums and tongue, punishing him for saying it to Bill. “Thank you, but I didn't ask—”

“You did!” Bill declared. But Dipper hadn't. He really hadn't. Bill was misconstruing everything. This was not how things worked. Telling Bill that now, however, would prove deadly. “Would you prefer I take your life back now?” Dipper shook his head quickly. “Then repeat after me: I. Owe. You.”

Dipper felt ill. He felt sicker than he had waking up after the explosion. The explosion that had killed the other students. The explosion that should have killed him. He closed his eyes. He didn't want to say the words. He didn't feel right even thinking them. His mouth felt dry and his voice was husky and weak as he whispered, “I owe you.”

Bill's hand burst into blue flames as he held it out to Dipper. As he started shaking his head, he looked up at Bill and was prepared to beg. Bill beat him to the punch. “It would be a shame if Shootin' star came upstairs to find you dead in your bed.” The reminder that Bill could take his life as quickly as he'd saved it was enough. Hand shaking, he clasped his Bill's flaming palm and felt everything inside him begin to spin. His body felt sore again as Bill returned to his normal pallor and whispered, “Good.”

“What do you want?” he croaked out. 

Bill's grin was wry as he said, “I'll let you know.” Then Bill held up a finger and cried, “Oh! And Pine tree,” the contents of Dipper's chest sank to the ground, “tell no one of this arrangement.” There was no fear of that. Dipper couldn't even begin to think of a way to explain this to Mabel. As he nodded, Bill added, “And don't try to break the deal either.” How could he? He had no book anymore? His situation didn't drive home until Bill ran his exposed fingers through Dipper's hair. Dipper squeezed his eyes closed and whimpered as another hand rested on his chest and pinned him to the tree. Bill's breath blew across Dipper's face as he uttered, “Your sister's teeth looked so pretty after the braces were removed. Wouldn't want that to change, now, would we?”

Dipper woke with a start. Cold sweat covered his aching body and the last of the air in his lungs had already been wrung out. He almost choked on the breath he tried to intake. Though awake, he still felt the indent of Bill's hand on his skin. He still felt bony, long fingers twining through his hair.

Oh God, what had he done?


	4. Say Anything

Dipper didn't have to say anything. He didn't have to ask anyone to stay with him. No one was leaving him on his own after the explosion in the chemistry room, and for that he was grateful. He avoided sleep at all costs. When he did doze off, he would jerk upright suddenly. It was as though his body knew the danger that lay in losing consciousness. Bill had not returned for what Dipper owed him yet. Dipper could only imagine what Bill might come to collect. He'd never been so afraid in his life. 

He was wrong about Bill not returning; there were times where he felt a hand in his hair when no one was near enough to touch it. He knew exactly who it was. He didn't need to be half asleep to feel that. It was never menacing, the way Bill touched his hair. Not actively. It felt more like a warning, and that put Dipper on edge more than an actual threat.

For all intents and purposes, the fear was passive. He wasn't actively freaking out, though perhaps he should at this point. No, he shouldn't. If he did, Bill would strike back in ways that made his gut twist and his throat clench. Yes, the fear was passive, constantly lingering in the shadows and corners of his mind waiting to remind him of what may come. For someone in a constant state of anxiety, he was surprisingly good at convincing the others he was fine. Bodily, at least. When speaking to Wendy on the phone (who'd told her what happened, he didn't know) she seemed to hear something in his voice the others didn't. He could play it off normally, but there were times when she flat out called him a liar. This was usually when he said he was fine. Well, he really was lying: he wasn't fine. She most likely thought he wasn't fine because of the explosion. While true, the explosion itself was not what he constantly felt anxiety over.

Mabel tried to distract him while school was closed. It was to be closed for the rest of the month, which Grunkle Stan seemed happy about. Not only were they able to help him around the Mystery Shack, he was able to keep a closer watch on them. Not that he would ever admit that was what he really wanted. That would require letting them know he was legitimately worried about Dipper. Dipper appreciated the concern, but he had bigger problems.

“What happened to your date?” Dipper asked while he and Mabel were alone in the room and he was trying to take his mind of the panic inside him.

“It went well,” was her only comment. From the look on her face, she wasn't being entirely truthful.

The absence of detail made him jump to conclusions in his mind. Tensing, he asked, “Did he hurt you? Was he disrespectful?”

“No, no,” she said, backtracking. “No, it really went well. I had a lot of fun. I've just been . . . distracted.” He felt guilty. Of course she'd been. Out of all of them, Mabel had been incredibly preoccupied with his well-being. He really should be more appreciative. He couldn't imagine losing his twin. If she finds out, you _will_ lose her, a voice in the back of his mind said. That made him draw up his knees to his chest. Arms wrapped around his legs, Mabel caught his attention by saying, “It's she, by the way.”

“Huh?”

“The person I went on a date with. She's a girl.”

After all the boys Mabel had chased, he hadn't seen that coming. Nodding, he accepted it without question. “As long as you had a good time.” Mabel smiled, blushing a little. “Do you plan on going on another date?”

She nodded. “Eventually.” He hoped she was serious by that, and that she didn't remain distracted by him. He felt another brush to his hair then, and he almost bolted out of his bed. “Dipper?” Mabel asked.

“I'm fine,” he instantly said. Trying to stand up slowly, he held his hands up when he saw her getting up to check on him. “I'm just,” come on, make something up, “going to the bathroom.” She didn't look like she believed him, but sat down anyway. He moved slowly, trying to feign being calm at first. When he was out of her sight and hearing range, he was a few strides from running for the bathroom. Once there, he locked the door and immediately turned on the faucet. Splashing cold water on his face, he leaned over the sink while breathing heavily. His arms shook, making him grip the sink harder. When there was another unnatural rush of air and ghost-like fingers on the brown locks, he shook his head and growled, “Stop it!” He had never hated his own hair so much. He had had no desire to be rid of it until now. He had no idea what Bill's fascination with it was about, but he was sick of feeling Bill's fingers on his head.

Removing his hat, he dropped it on the floor. Digging through the drawers, he searched for a pair of scissors. Face feeling hot and growing redder, he tried not to look at himself in the mirror for fear Bill would be looking back at him and not his reflection. He had no idea where that fear came from, but it didn't feel illegitimate the way his fear of puppets used to. Well, his fear of puppets was considered illegitimate until he became a puppet. Then he'd felt justified in his fear.

The room got cold as he finally pulled a set of shears from the drawer. He had the thought as he grabbed a clump of hair that this would anger Bill. Gritting his teeth, he opened the scissors and got ready to cut. Bill had him. He had him with guilt and with the threat to his life. Dipper wasn't going to be completely his, and for some reason he thought this was a good way to show it.

As he was about to chop off the first bit of hair, his vision went black. Scissors fell from his hand and clattered to rest under the sink, and he collapsed. The last thing he felt before his eyes flew open again was his body hitting the floor and his head hitting the wall. With eyes open, he found himself floating above his own body. A scream lodged in his throat that he wasn't able to release as the world faded to monochrome. Then two arms pulled him to the side and held him up in the shower stall, and the shout was ripped from his lungs. He didn't even have to turn his head to see who was holding him back, keeping him from returning to his body.

“Let's watch what happens, shall we?” Bill asked.

“Let me go!” Dipper cried.

“No, I think you need to see this.”

“Dipper?” Mabel called from the other side of the door. 

Dipper's eyes widened. “Mabel!”

“Oh Pine tree, you know she can't hear you like this,” Bill crooned.

“Dipper, I heard a thump. Is everything okay?”

“What are you doing?” Dipper's voice cracked as he asked Bill.

Bill chuckled. “Showing you what it would look like for them to find you dead.” Dipper did look at him then. Bill clicked his tongue and shook his head, “Don't worry. You're not actually dead.” His eye went red. “Not yet.”

“Dipper?” Mabel's cry got more desperate. “Dipper answer me!” She started banging on the door.

“Mabel, I'm here!” Dipper screamed, struggling against Bill's grip. This can't be happening. He can't let this happen.

“Now now,” Bill clapped a third hand over Dipper's mouth as the fourth joined the others in pinning him to Bill's chest, “all that shouting will make you miss the show.”

“Dipper!” Mabel was screaming. Dipper's throat closed at the sound of her crying. “Grunkle Stan!” Her voice was barely a shout now, and from what he could tell she'd slid to the floor crying by the time the old man showed up and started shoving his shoulder into the door. Though he shoved hard, probably hurting himself in the process, the door was barely budging.

Dipper found himself staring at his own unmoving body. He shook, wanting nothing more than to return to it and reassure them that he was, in fact, fine. Struggling against Bill again, he was on the verge of begging to be released when he heard Soos's voice on the other side of the door. “Hold on,” he told the others. Then the handle jiggled and suddenly they were in.

Everything went quiet and a ringing started in Dipper's head as Mabel and Grunkle Stan dropped to either side of his body, Mabel grabbing his shirt and shaking him relentlessly. Grunkle Stan had to pry her hands off Dipper before he could check his vitals. They all looked so terrified, hands shaking, eyes watering. Dipper whimpered, leaning towards them and wanting to get to them. He wanted to tell them he was okay, he wanted to hug them back, he wanted to get back in his body.

The ringing in his head blocked out whatever it was that they were saying. He squirmed to get free as Soos took over and picked Dipper's body up. Dipper watched as they all filed out of the bathroom, terrified and shouting God only knew what to each other. When they were out of range, Dipper went limp in Bill's arms. Bill's hand finally slid from his mouth and a broken noise slipped Dipper's lips as he became aware of tears in his eyes. Everything inside him cracked and gave, and he could feel himself breaking down despite his efforts to keep it together. Bill did not let him go entirely though. That should have been a red flag. That should have told him this encounter wasn't over.

“Now,” Bill uttered, and Dipper could hear the note of danger in the demon's tone. Suddenly Dipper was being shoved into the bathroom wall, two hands pinning his wrists as another buried itself in his hair and the last gripped the collar of his shirt. Dipper's eyes widened as Bill seemed to grow in size, taking up almost the entire space of the tiny bathroom. Another scream lodged in his throat as his insides clenched. Bill's skin turned red and his eye turned black and Dipper somehow knew that by saying 'not yet' earlier, Bill really intended to kill him now.

And there would be no one to hear him scream.

 

Bill couldn't have contained himself if he'd wanted to. Every little voice he had left in his head was screaming for him to calm down and back off, but Pine tree needed to know. He needed to know the consequences of his actions.

And Bill couldn't deny he enjoyed the look of pure horror on the human's face. He enjoyed chaos, but damn did this level of control feel good. “Listen up, kid,” Bill uttered, staring into Pine tree's wide, dark eyes, “because I only want to tell you this once. You are mine. Clear?” Pine tree was frozen, staring dumbly up at him like a deer in the headlights. “Are we clear?” he asked, voice dropping an octave and growing louder. Then the kid nodded. Good. “Do you know what that means? To be mine?”

“I—”

Bill tightened his grip on Pine tree's hair, making him squeeze his eyes shut and follow the demon's hand. Crying out, Bill watched the vein pulsing on Dipper's exposed throat. Blinking, he tried not to be too distracted by the motion. “Rhetorical question, kid.” Pulling Pine tree off the wall, he straightened up to hold the young man aloft and stare him dead in the face. The kid wasn't fighting him, at least. That made this infinitely easier. “First of all,” his grip tightened even further on the kid's hair, a small whine escaping his lips, “your body belongs to me.” The hand holding Pine tree's collar unclenched, a finger reaching up to touch a loose curl. “Your hair is mine.” His talon scraped the skin of the kid's cheek, making him wince. “Your skin is mine.” Pine tree was shuddering now, tears spilling down his cheeks. Bill tried not to smile, tried not to enjoy this so much that his meaning escaped the human. This, of all things, had to be made clear to him. His grip on the kid's wrists tightened. “Your limbs are mine.” The young man was nodding. Yes, this is good, but how far did he feel like going to prove his point? He traced the line of Pine tree's jaw with his finger. When the kid flinched, he knew he had to keep going. “That means,” using his claw he tore a hole in Pine tree's shirt, and the kid's eyes somehow went wider and his shivering grew, “if anyone is going to alter your body,” he dug the talon into the skin of Pine tree's chest and dragged it down, making the human squint, grit his teeth, and pull against him while pained groans escaped his throat, “it's gonna be me.” Bill watched as his nail left a gash on Pine tree's skin, eye fixed on the blood beading up and dripping.

“I get it,” the young man whimpered as Bill pulled his claw away. “Please let me go.”

He asked so nicely. Bill liked how polite Pine tree had become since his return. But the vein on his neck was so enticing, Bill couldn't look away. The only thing that pulled his attention from the vein was the blood running from the gash he'd left on Pine tree.

Just a taste.

That singular voice in the back of his mind that said he had bigger things to concern himself with shrieked. It told him to leave it there. He'd proven his point, he'd done what he'd intended and now Pine tree was shaking and cowering in his palms. He needed to go.

Just one taste.

Pine tree looked up at him, and he could see the prayer for release in his eyes again. He could practically hear every thought from the human, begging to be let go, begging to return to his body. That didn't sit right with him. While he enjoyed the pleading, it felt like he didn't understand. Bill needed to make him understand. He needed to . . . needed to . . . .

Just one.

Little.

Taste.

 

Dipper squirmed as Bill's forked tongue left his mouth to graze the wound he'd left on his chest. His neck hurt from being held in this position for so long, but the rest of his body still squirmed at the unnatural feeling of the demon's tongue on his flesh. “Bill?” Dipper uttered as the demon's skin began to fade back to yellow. “Bill?” he uttered again as the demon's free hand slid down Dipper's trembling chest to his stomach. “Bill, please—”

“Please what, Pine tree?” Bill's voice was husky and low, his eye returning to its normal color.

“Please let me—”

“No.” 

Then Bill pressed him against the wall, body covering Dipper's as his mouth neared the young man's neck. Dipper started kicking and trying to lean away from Bill's sharp teeth, which he could see just out of the corner of his eye. Almost all of him was trapped by Bill's body against the wall and he felt sick to his stomach. “Bill no!” he screamed, closing his eyes in preparation for the pain.

“You need to know that you're mine.” He felt Bill's teeth and tongue against his neck as he spoke, razor points brushing across his skin.

All Dipper wanted was to get back into his body. He needed to get Bill off of him. He didn't know how, and the longer Bill pinned him the more bruised his arms felt and the sorer his scalp became. Tears flowed freely as he realized asking wasn't going to get him anywhere and he was as good as dead. He could think of only one method of getting Bill off of him now and that method made him feel even sicker: agreeing with him. “I'm yours,” he whispered against the lump in his throat. Bill's mouth poised above Dipper's throat, razor points threatening to sink in. The grip on his hair loosened, and Dipper repressed a moan at the relief he felt in his scalp and neck. The demon's grip on his wrists even loosened, but this time Dipper couldn't suppress the sigh that came out. His insides ceased to function as Dipper was yanked off the wall and thrown against the sink. The counter hit his gut hard, forcing the air out of his lungs just as he could begin to breathe freely again. Placing his hands against the mirror on the wall to hold himself up, he tried to take a breath. In a moment's notice, Bill was looming over him again only this time from behind. Hands placed on either side of Dipper and leaning against the mirror, a third hand cupped Dipper's chin and held it firmly. The fourth hand took its place on his stomach, slowly sliding down. Dipper's eyes shot open as he realized what was happening, and everything (noise, breath, etc.) became lodged in his throat as he looked in the mirror and saw himself with a monster, holding him up and pulling him against a large chest, staring back. “Oh God,” he murmured when he finally caught his breath, bile rising in his throat. He closed his eyes, unable to look at himself for much longer.

Then Bill's hand grasped his groin and Dipper straightened up so quickly he hit Bill's shoulder with his still sore scalp. The hand on his jaw forced his head straight again and Bill uttered, “Open your eyes.” Dipper tried to shake his head, wanted out of Bill's grasp, wanted to fly back to his body before his family gave up on him, before Bill could do anymore damage. “Open them.” He couldn't bring himself to cooperate. Look at what cooperating had done to him so far. He couldn't escape. The finality was sinking in as Bill's claws threatened to pierce his cheeks and Bill snarled, “Look!” Dipper gave in, eyes sliding open. When he could fully see the image before him, his eyes didn't focus on himself. Instead, they locked on the sharp smile on Bill's face, the pleased look in his eye, the parts of him that denoted that he was enjoying what he was doing to Dipper. Dipper's gut heaved at the sight, but as he wretched nothing came out. In the back of his mind, he was glad. He didn't need Bill angry at him again, but he also couldn't decide if the demon's wrath was much better than his mirth.

Or his lust. Or gluttony or greed. Dipper had never quite seen anything like the look Bill was giving him now, but he felt like he was seconds away from being devoured. 

The hand on his groin began squeezing, stroking and rubbing through his jeans. “Ungh,” was all that came out of Dipper's throat. He wanted to close his eyes, pulled back his hands to fight off the touch even. Then the hands that had been on the wall moments before grasped his upper arms and held them at his sides. Dipper kicked, trying to put up a fight but to no avail. Pinned again and forced to watch, his guts churned and his skin crawled. Shivering and groaning from his efforts to pull back, he couldn't stop himself from breaking into sobs. “Bill, please stop,” he pleaded between cries, eyes sliding closed again.

The hand only teased him more. “Don't look away,” the demon uttered. Dipper sobbed as he obeyed, acknowledging that Bill wasn't paying the slightest bit of attention to his pleas anymore. “Say it again.”

Dipper's eyes locked with Bill's, the petting stopping long enough for Dipper to ask, “What?”

“Say you're mine again.” Dipper watched as Bill's long tongue darted out of his mouth and cringed as it made contact with his ear. Bill's eye went black for a moment before returning to normal. He growled, “Don't flinch,” warningly.

Dipper nodded in his hand, then uttered, “I'm y-yours.” He was furious with his voice for sounding so weak and broken, but Bill accepted the words. To Dipper's horror, he resumed stroking him through his pants. Dipper sobbed again, keeping still though every last part of him wanted to fight. His skin felt like there were needles jabbing into him wherever Bill was touching, and it took all the willpower in the world not to wince at the sensation. Before he could stop himself, the word, “Please,” left his lips again.

He expected Bill to get angry, but what he got was much worse. “Well, since you asked nicely,” he whispered as his hand undid Dipper's pants. 

Dipper's eyes went wide. “No! No!” His breath hitched as Bill's hand dipped below the waistband of his boxers and clawed fingers brushed him. Dipper went completely still, head arching back as he ignored the reflection and looked at Bill directly. “Stop! Please stop!”

“I don't think you understand,” the demon's hand pulled Dipper free and wrapped around him (he was actually hardening, why was he hardening, he didn't want this), “the meaning of the word 'mine.'” He punctuated the last word by pumping his hand.

Dipper bucked backward and away from the hand on him only to be blocked by Bill. All around him, Bill. He couldn't get away from Bill. He couldn't escape Bill. Every breath, every noise, every word he had left in his defense shattered in his throat as the hand on his jaw slid to his neck and started to squeeze. Eyes wide and wet, his vision blurred as he was forced to watch Bill watch him, the hand around him unsteady and quick, a claw scraping against the sensitive skin every few strokes. His mouth agape, Dipper couldn't even bring himself to cry out at the pain the movements caused him. Forced to stop struggling, the helplessness sank in fully and his body went limp against Bill's and he didn't even have the air to whimper now. As if sensing the surrender, the hand on his throat loosened its grip and the hand on him slowed. Knowing what Bill wanted him to say before he could ask, all he could manage to whine out was, “Yours.”

“Louder.”

Dipper gulped, eyes threatening to close. He kept them open long enough to croak out, “Yours,” again.

The hand on him slowed to a stop and he tried not to breathe a sigh of relief. “Mine,” Bill whispered.

He closed his eyes for a moment before adding, “Yours.”

Then Bill backed off, letting him go completely. Dipper fell to the ground, hunching over and shaking violently. Gasping and crying, he wrapped his arms around himself in an attempt to quell the shudders. The pain in his wrists, upper arms, chest, scalp, and groin set in and he just wanted to curl up in a dark corner and keep his eyes closed for a long, long time. Everywhere Bill had touched him felt like an angered burn mark that refused to be soothed, yet when long, glove-less fingers ran through his curls he no longer had the energy to flinch at the touch. “Good,” Bill declared. Dipper squeezed his eyes shut as sobs racked him. He couldn't even pull away. He couldn't even fight. There was no point. “Do you still want to return to your body?” Dipper was terrified to answer truthfully, but he couldn't lie. He'd lied enough. Electing to say nothing, he nodded slowly. “Hmm.” The tone made his eyes shoot open again, fear creeping into him at the notion that his answer would entice Bill to keep him there longer. Instead, Bill said, “Alright. Let me help you.” Dipper squeezed his eyes shut. “Since you've been so good, I can be nice this time.”

Electricity ran through his body and he came awake with a scream. Someone's hands were on him, and he immediately batted that person away.

“Dipper!” someone cried as another set of hands came to replace the ones he'd thrown off him. Eyes shooting open, he immediately regretted it as he squinted at the lights above him. Everything was white. Nothing was familiar. Where was he? The hands on his wrists made it too hard for him to focus on his surroundings. Resorting to kicking, more hands went to grab his legs.

“Let go!” he shouted, his voice feeling louder than ever before.

“Let him go!” a gruff voice he recognized demanded.

“He'll rip out his fluids.”

“He's going to hurt himse—”

“I said let him go!” They obeyed the voice. “Now back off!” Dipper heard footsteps as his eyes fought to adjust. Rolling over, he let out an undignified cry as he rolled out of whatever it was he'd been lying on and hit a cold, tiled floor. People scrambled to help him at first, but stopped at the behest of the gruff voice. When Dipper's eyes finally adjusted to the light, he realized where he was: the hospital. Curling up in the fetal position on the floor, he looked up to see two nurses, Grunkle Stan, Soos, and Mabel standing around him. His arm stung where a needle had been ripped from his hand due to the fall, and for a moment he thought that was the only pain he would feel. Then the soreness from what had happened in the mindscape came flooding into him and he didn't dare lift up his sleeves to see if there actually were bruises where Bill had held him down. Hyperventilating, he covered his face with his sore arms and proceeded to lambast himself for doing this now, in front of everyone. He could hear Mabel crying though she had covered her mouth, but no one dared go near him. Not after Grunkle Stan's outburst. It had been Grunkle Stan barking for everyone to get away from him. Dipper flinched as a shadow passed over him. Hearing someone kneel by his head, he recognized the person as his great uncle when the man asked, “Dipper, what happened?” Dipper's immediate reaction was to shake his head. “Dipper—”

“I don't remember,” spilled out before he could stop himself. He thought of the words and realized they were nothing but a wish. He wanted nothing more for them to be true, but they weren't and he knew it. His skin burned, reminding him that it wasn't true.

“You can't lie to a liar, kid,” Grunkle Stan said. Dipper still shook his head, standing by what he said. A hand rested on his shoulder, and it felt like pins pricking him and that made him pull away from his uncle.

Mabel approached then. He knew it was her by her footsteps. He heard her pull a blanket from the bed he'd fallen from. He tried not to wince as she covered him with it and lied down next to him. “It's okay, bro bro,” she whispered to him through tears. She didn't touch him. Grunkle Stan didn't touch him again either. Soos shooed the nurses out of the hospital room before sitting in a chair beside them. “It's okay,” Mabel said. He wanted to believe her, wanted to believe he was okay. Flattening out on the cool floor, he wished the cold in the tiles would soothe his burning skin. The tiles warmed up from his body heat quicker than they could relieve his flesh. Mabel whispered, “You're safe.”

No. No he wasn't. But he couldn't tell them that, and that brought the tears back full force.


	5. Whispers in the Dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a filler chapter.

His stay in the hospital was short, but his family remained as attentive as the nurses had been if not more so. Grunkle Stan tried everything to get him to talk about what happened. Eventually Dipper settled with the doctor's theories: post traumatic stress caused by surviving the explosion. It made sense, and everyone seemed to accept it after a time.

But that wasn't what kept him up at night.

Mabel tried desperately to get him to sleep. The bags under his eyes made him look like he'd been punched in the face and his vision was fuzzy around the edges. After a time Mabel took to lying in bed with him to get him to sleep (something they used to do when they were much much younger), which she had to stop doing at his behest. Whenever someone touched him, he didn't feel them. Instead he felt Bill's claws, and the sensation almost always made him recoil from the person. He appreciated that Mabel was trying to comfort him, reassure him that he wasn't alone. That was the problem though: he knew he wasn't alone. He was never going to be alone again.

He learned this one night when Mabel actually did go on a date again. Dipper followed her all around the house that day, helping her get ready. It was a relief, having something else to focus on. It was more comforting to see Mabel smiling and giddy than having her and the others hover over him. He hoped they stopped once school opened back up, but for now that was all they had to do really. Dipper was surprised to see an expensive looking car outside the shack when Mabel's date came to pick her up. If it weren't for the fact that Mabel had already said it was a girl, Dipper would have shuddered at the thought of Gideon coming to pick her up. A new fear crept into him at that, one that quickly bubbled up as Grunkle Stan said his piece about safety and walked away.

“She is respectful, isn't she?” Dipper asked Mabel. “She won't try anything with you, won't hurt you—?”

“Yes and no. You already asked me that.”

“I just wanna make sure.”

Her smile turned sad as he slumped over in his seat. “Hey,” she punched him lightly in the shoulder before reaching for the door. “Get some sleep while I'm out. Okay?”

“I'll try,” he lied. She didn't need to know he had no intention of sleeping ever again.

Before closing the door, she paused. Looking back at Dipper, she asked, “You are okay, aren't you?” He nodded. “You're not . . . having nightmares again? You're not—”

“I'm okay, Mabel,” he lied again.

“Promise?” 

His nod was slower this time. “Promise.” She still hesitated noticeably, but left anyway.

Dipper left his bedroom door wide open in case Grunkle Stan needed something, or even if the old man just wanted to check on him. Lying in his bed, he stared at the ceiling and pretended it was seconds away from caving on him. He never once thought that would be a comforting thought. The air grew colder, forcing him to curl up on his side. He settled into the fetal position almost naturally now, like somehow he was safer lying like this than lying flat. He faced the wall, tracing patterns in the texture with his fingers. He didn't want to sleep, didn't want to see Bill again. He knew it was inevitable, knew Bill was waiting for the moment to reappear. That didn't mean he wasn't going to delay it as long as he possibly could.

He realized the delay had come to an end when the door to his room creaked before clicking shut. Electricity ran down the length of his spine and his eyes went from wide to squeezed shut. He grit his teeth hard to keep from gnawing on his lip or tongue until they blood, which he'd done many times when he felt Bill's presence. There were moments where the demon specifically wanted Dipper to know he was there, and he did this by either touching his hair or pulling on his sleeve. Mabel caught him flinching once, and he had to go to great lengths to convince her that a bug had startled him. He wasn't sure she ever really believed that. He had to work on his wincing. He couldn't let anyone see him do that again.

Floorboards creaked, and Dipper felt a whine escape his throat as he tightened in on himself. It was inevitable, he told himself. You can't run, you can't escape. Just get through it and you'll be fine. Only he wasn't positive he believed himself. He couldn't be fine. He wouldn't be fine. Fine was no longer a luxury he had access to.

He felt a dip in the mattress and his eyes shot open to see the world had become monochrome. He stopped breathing when he felt fingers (not air, fingers) sink into his curls before grasping the back of his neck possessively. He bit his lip then just to keep himself from screaming. He closed his eyes against the tears forming in his eyes, a painful twinge in his throat making it difficult to even whimper now. He buried his hands in his blankets and sheets, gripping the material until his knuckles were white to keep from shaking. It didn't help. His whole body was bent on shivering as soon as Bill said, “Now's a pretty poor time for you to be left alone, don't you think?” Dipper struggled with his throat and tongue, unable to formulate a response quick enough. His skin grew clammy, fearing what Bill might do to him this time. So far, he did nothing. Nothing except keep his large hand on Dipper's neck, fingers long enough to just barely encircle and touch. Bill's claws didn't dig in, but Dipper could still feel the points on his skin and he couldn't move. He wouldn't move, because movement might invite those talons to tear his throat. “It's nice of you to let me touch you without jerking away. We should do this more often.”

The breath he'd been holding came trembling from his lips along with the sentence, “What do you want from me?”

For a moment, he feared he'd be reprimanded for speaking. Bill hummed, the an almost light chuckle shattered the eery silence. “You've always been my puppet, Pine tree. It's cute how you think that changed somehow.” So he wanted a toy, was basically what he was saying. Dipper's throat tightened further. Bill sighed then. “I know you're upset with me.” The old Dipper might have made a quip at that. Instead, all he could do was listen. “And honestly, kid, I can't blame you.” Why was he doing this? “See, I like you Pine tree,” Dipper really wished he didn't, “but if you keep asking stupid questions and bucking my system, I won't hesitate to teach you another lesson.” Bill's hand trailed from Dipper's neck down his back and Dipper tasted blood from biting his lip so hard, but he did not pull away. He did not flinch. Not this time. “And I think you learned your lesson pretty well. Do you recall what that was?”

A pitiful gasp escaped Dipper's lips as he answered almost reflexively, “I'm yours.” His shoulders shook as he felt the pins and needles pricking his skin where Bill had laid his hand. His flesh threatened to burn the way it had that day in the bathroom, and bile rose up in his throat in response to the words that he'd uttered. He hadn't meant to utter them so hastily, but suddenly all he could remember was the way those words had saved him from the torture Bill had put him through.

They saved him again, Bill crooning out, “That's correct. Lesson learned, and learned well.” Bill drew closer to Dipper and it took all of Dipper's strength not to crawl away. He didn't have much room to crawl either way, his front brushing against the wall already. It struck him how easy it would be for Bill to . . . he refused to let his mind wander. No, it would only distract him from survival. He choked down the vomit that threatened to come up, because the very thought of what he had to do now to appease Bill was sickening. “Don't worry, Pine tree. I take care of my things very, very well. Usually.”

It was then Dipper came to grips with the finality of his situation. Bill was never going to leave him alone now. He had no way of banishing him. He had no way of telling anyone what was happening without endangering them or himself. Perhaps the most painful thing was Bill was never going to let him die. No, he now saw himself as the owner of his life. Bill owned Dipper. 

The air in Dipper's lungs was crushed out of him as he awoke and the monochrome world had disappeared. He didn't look behind him to see if Bill was still lying there, knowing that even if he was he wouldn't see him. He still felt Bill's hand and the path it had left from his head down to his neck. That was enough for him to pull the pillow from under his head and sob into it.

He'd thought he'd known what doomed felt like. No. He really hadn't. Right now he was worse than doomed. What was worse than doomed? Damned? He was damned.

This was his fault. He brought this upon himself. He just knew he had. That only made him sob harder, grateful that the only person there to watch was the ghost-like form of Bill.


	6. Dark in My Imagination

Dipper was relieved when school started back up, but at the same time dreaded it. Up until the first day back, he had been sapped of energy and reason to get out of bed. At the same time, he didn't want to stay in bed. He didn't want to sleep. He didn't want to breathe.

He dreaded leaving Bill for an extended period of time, though he hadn't attacked Dipper since. This was largely due to the fact that Dipper did very little to provoke him. Bill often threatened, but he never went out and looked for reasons to hurt Dipper. Dipper guessed he didn't want to give him reason to fight back. Not that Dipper would. The first thing Bill tended to threaten him with if he ever struggled was Mabel's life. With that, Bill had Dipper practically kneeling before him. The ever present demon knew his weaknesses and would take any opportunity to exploit them if he felt it necessary.

It sickened Dipper how easily he'd been conditioned to just accept Bill's presence without question. He never wore his hat anymore lest it go flying off for no explained reason. He froze when he felt hands on him, skin still burning every time someone touched him. But he never flinched. He'd fought hard with himself to make it so he never flinched again. If something bothered him, he was quick to hide it. Above all else, he learned to lie about what he was thinking. It was easy for Bill to pry into his mind, but his family weren't so enabled. They'd actually started to believe him when he said he was fine, even though on the inside there was still a small voice crying out that he was anything but.

Bill would stay with him indefinitely, so Dipper was indefinitely finding newer and better ways to survive.

 

Training Pine tree was easy. Bill really had to give the kid some credit. He was quick to discover the best way not to irritate him was simply to do as Bill instructed. It had taken very few nightmares to accomplish this. The kid very easily figured out that the best way to end the torment was simply to find and run to him. It didn't matter whether the shelter was actually the storm. Bill was simply pleased that Pine tree was learning so quickly that the only way to find peace was to put all of his faith in Bill.

So when his human had to return to the activities of the real world, Bill was perfectly fine. “I'll see you when you fall asleep, kid,” he crooned to him. They were floating in a vacant space of the mindscape, Bill twining his fingers through Pine tree's hair while holding the boy to his chest. He had the kid's arms pinned, which was hardly necessary. Pine tree spent most of his time keeping his eyes closed and just letting Bill do as he pleased, which usually wasn't much more than this. It only took a few small touches to drain the kid of his energy, which Bill kept on hand for his own sinister purposes. Having a human to steal energy from came in pretty handy.

“You'll see me no matter what,” his human remarked. It wasn't snide. It was spoken matter-of-factly.

And it was true. “Right as usual,” Bill said, petting the kid's head almost lovingly. If the demon were capable of such an emotion. “I'll be keeping an eye on the other students. Any of them look at you funny, they'll have nightmares for weeks.”

Pine tree sighed. Bill could tell the boy was choosing his words carefully. “You don't have to do that.”

“I take care of what's mine, remember?”

“Why don't we make a deal about it?”

Bill perked up. “I like deals. What did you have in mind?”

“If anyone lays a hand on me in a way you don't approve of, tell me first so I can handle it.”

Bill's brow furrowed. “That's not much of a deal, Pine tree. What's in it for me?”

The young man's own brow knitted, as if searching for something to hand over. There wasn't much Bill wanted from him, so anything Pine tree had to offer was at least worth a laugh. Besides, Bill already owned the kid. If he so wanted, he would have Pine tree bound and begging for mercy every night for the rest of his life. Maybe that would even extend into the afterlife. Bill hadn't decided yet. But so far, he hadn't wanted to delve into that side of things. He was enjoying this almost perfect subjugation so much more.

“Anything,” was the only word that passed Pine tree's lips.

Bill's back straightened as he craned his neck to look down at the human's face. Pine tree's eyes opened only slightly to look into Bill's. “Anything, Pine tree?”

His human nodded nervously, and he was nervous. Bill could feel him starting to shake. “You can take anything I own from me. I won't fight, and I won't complain.”

Such carefully chosen words for a deal filled with so many loopholes. Loopholes Bill could exploit. It didn't matter that Pine tree belonged to him and he could take what he wanted regardless. The offer of freely giving over just about anything under certain conditions was just too good to pass up. To get the terms right, Bill reiterated, “Anytime someone touches you in a manner I don't like and I let you handle it, I can take something from you.” Pine tree nodded. A grin spread across Bill's face. He liked this. He liked this a lot. Holding out a burning palm to the human, Bill uttered, “We have a deal.”

Bill allowed Pine tree one of his hands to shake the demon's. They continued floating through the mindscape until the kid had to awaken.

 

The way people avoided him made him feel like they knew. Somehow they all knew what was happening to him. The reality was that the only thing they really knew was that he'd somehow survived the explosion. That experience paled in comparison to what was being done to him now.

He shivered every time someone brushed past him. This wasn't because he feared them, but he was afraid. He feared that every brush, every stare, every reassuring comment would invoke the deal he'd made with Bill. Bill had bent the rules before. Surely he would do it again whenever he believed it suited him.

Dipper struggled to keep up in class. Staying awake was a battle in and of itself, and he found himself drifting off often. Sometimes he had a hard time lifting his backpack, his energy was so low. The teachers had said nothing so far aside from telling him to get some blood work done. He doubted anything would show up if he did take that advice. On some level he wished the teachers would take the time to actually notice him and his growing problem. He wished anyone would take notice. At the same time, he didn't dare call down the wrath of Bill.

He discovered the weight of belonging to Bill one day when a kid Dipper had never seen before had shoved him forcefully into a locker. “Watch it,” Dipper mouthed quietly. His words weren't a threat or even a warning. They were spoken so halfheartedly he didn't even believe he meant them. Instead of backing off the teen shoved him again, this time much harder than before. Dipper's eyes widened as he felt something on the back of his neck this time, the feeling resembling a hand holding clutching at his nape possessively. Bill was watching. With a little more force, Dipper mustered up, “I said watch it.”

“You shouldn't have survived,” was the student's only reply. Dipper was flabbergasted, unable to move after that had been spat at him. He found himself staring at the floor, the invisible hand still very much present on the back of his neck. He wished he knew who the teen was, but his best guess was that he'd been a friend to one of the students who hadn't survived the explosion.

And had Dipper gotten himself together enough, he would have told the student that he was right: Dipper shouldn't have survived. He should have died like the rest of them, but instead he was alive and paying dearly for it.

Bill said nothing of the student who'd shoved him that night, but the following day Dipper saw the student again and cringed. He recognized what had happened to the kid immediately: bags under the eyes, twitching at sudden movements and bright lights, speaking in half sentences and unfinished thoughts. The worst part came when the student saw Dipper staring. The eye contact was so brief, but Dipper knew everything from that one exchange before the teen started moving briskly away from him.

“I thought we had a deal,” Dipper dared to confront Bill that night. He was angrier about this than he had any right to be. What the student had told him had been cruel and triggering. For all intents and purposes, he should be thanking Bill for taking care of things.

At least, that's how Bill wanted him to see it. Standing in the forested mindscape, trees wavering back and forth and looking like they were being depicted on a busted television screen, Dipper stared up at the floating monster demon. “The deal didn't apply to him. I thought it best to take that situation into my own hands,” Bill said, cracking his knuckles loudly.

“I said I could handle it,” Dipper declared, voice raising slightly. Bill's eye flitted from his hands to him, his expression one of curiosity. “I don't want you fighting my battles.”

“The affairs of my pet are my affairs too.” Dipper gasped as Bill flicked his wrist and he started levitating upwards as well. “And let's be honest, you're no good at confrontation. I think I can count on one hand how many times you've handled confrontation well.”

“I can do some things on my own,” Dipper retorted.

“Oh, I'm aware of the things you can do on your own.” Bill's eye went half lidded. “I'm not impressed.”

“I don't always need you, you know.”

A grin spread across Bill's face. “But you do need me.” Dipper's eyes widened and his heart stopped as his mouth went agape. He screamed as Bill dropped him back on the forest floor. “And here I was worried you were getting testy with me.”

Dipper lost composure, unsure of what he'd just said. Bill suddenly lowered himself to the ground and leaned in really close. In his moment of weakness, Dipper flinched. “Bill—”

“Darn, I thought we were done with the flinching,” Bill said, a hand grasping one of Dipper's elbows. Dipper cried out, the palm send spike of electricity over his skin he was usually so good at ignoring. He started whimpering as another hand began caressing his forehead, pushing his hair back as it moved over his scalp. “There there. That's better.” Dipper shook, eyes squinting as he tried not to focus on the areas he was being touched. He tried to imagine he wasn't actually in his body, that instead he was somewhere else. Anywhere else. Breath hitching, he stilled in Bill's hands and allowed the demon to move him and take control of him as he saw fit. “Oh Pine tree. Where would you be without me?” Dipper was quiet as Bill pulled him back into the air, holding the young man in his lap as he did so often. Dipper squeezed his eyes shut in lieu of flinching as his back came to rest against Bill's chest. “I'm waiting for an answer, Pine tree.”

Dipper gulped down the knot threatening to form in his throat. “Dead.”

“Exactly. I think I know what's best for you. Wouldn't you agree?”

Bill traced Dipper's jaw with a finger as the young man bit out the word, “Yes.”

“I'm glad you see things my way.”

On this subject, Dipper would argue no more. Challenging Bill any further was out of the question, lest Bill make it clear to him yet again that Dipper's own safety was better off in someone else's hands.

 

Bill relished having almost all of Pine tree's attention. He didn't realize just how much of it he had until it started drifting elsewhere. Usually he was fantastic at pulling Pine tree's focus back to him. It was child's play, really. His human had acquired such a healthy fear of him that he didn't move without thinking of how Bill was going to react. He didn't try to fight Bill on it, either. Every now and then he'd try to regain a shred of his independence, but ultimately he'd bend to Bill's will. He feared retaliation so much, Bill wondered what it would take to truly make the demon wish to harm him. There was so little Dipper could do to pull such a reaction from him.

Bill discovered what would do the trick. He discovered it one week when one of the colleges (he didn't care which) let its students return home for the holiday (another detail he didn't particularly care to find out). The detail he actually was invested in was who was coming back to Gravity Falls.

Only the one human he had not thought to threaten Pine tree with.

Pine tree and Shooting star were walking home when none other than Red showed up. The twins ran for her, Pine tree stopping short just before reaching her. Bill let out a sigh. Good. He was still aware of Bill's wishes. Somewhat. While Shooting star embraced Red fully, Pine tree waved awkwardly from a distance. Bill didn't listen to what they were talking about. What they were saying didn't matter.

What did matter was the way Red's eyes lingered on Pine tree longer than average, and mostly when Pine tree wasn't looking at all.

The snippets he heard of the discussion, the 'how are you's and 'are you okay's that tended to come with normal human talks, fell away as Bill bristled. Red continued walking with them to the shack, and she was walking too close for his comfort. All the while staring at Pine tree. It didn't matter that he wasn't paying attention. It didn't matter that Shooting Star was doing all the talking. What mattered was that stare. What mattered was its target.

Its target belonged to Bill Cipher. Pine tree belonged to Bill Cipher, and she was practically _molesting_ him with her eyes.

Bill's hands clenched into fists and his eye went black. His skin heated to red and he started hissing so loud a shiver started going down Pine tree's spine. Only a shiver? _Only_ a _shiver_? Pine tree wasn't paying attention to him. No, judging by the tint in his cheeks and the smirk on his lips (a smirk he hadn't seen in a very long time) Pine tree was focused on something else entirely.

Usually Bill would reach through the mindscape just to brush his human's skin, just to remind him that he was there. If Bill did that now, he'd snap Pine tree's neck and wouldn't be able to fix it. No, he'd just wait. He'd wait for him to fall asleep. Then he'd figure out from Pine tree, who still held himself as somewhat responsible for his life, if this was going to be a problem. 

Because Pine tree really didn't want to know how Bill was thinking of dealing with it.

 

The mindscape felt heavy. He felt like he was wading through the space rather than simply walking through it as was typical. His ever present fear and anxiety took precedence and wracked him as he looked at just how crimson the world around him appeared. There was hissing in his ears, and he knew Bill was angry.

The world came into view, and he realized he was standing on the end of the pier at the lake. He half expected the island monster or the Gobblewonker to appear. Either way, he knew better than to turn his back on the water. Instead of either of those creatures though, it was Bill who came rising up from the depths to hover above him. Dipper froze in terror at the fury the demon displayed, and his mind was in too much of a fog to conjure up what it was he could have done to infuriate the demon so.

“Bill?” he stuttered, unintentionally backing up a few steps. The demon made no move to follow. The demon didn't move. His stillness only frightened Dipper more. “Bill, what's going on?” He couldn't think of a single thing that would enrage him like this. He couldn't think. Inside there was a voice demanding he run, but there was no point in running when Bill could alter the mindscape with a snap. “What did I do?” Because it must be him. He must have done something.

Bill moved for the first time since he appeared, tilting his head to the side. Then he stepped down onto the pier and began walking towards Dipper. Dipper wanted to shrink where he was, wanted to disappear. Whether he could or not didn't matter. It wasn't like Bill would let him. When Bill stood toe to toe with him, he had to strain to look up at the demon's face. Dipper became hyper aware of every movement the monster made, watching him like he was watching a coiled viper. That was what Bill resembled at the moment: a venomous snake ready to bite at any sudden movements. Dipper knew that he would launch regardless of how still he was. It was only a matter of time and all he could do was watch.

He jumped when Bill asked, “Do I need to be worried?”

The shuddering started and Dipper couldn't get it to stop. His voice trembled as he asked, “About what?” His insides twisted and he felt like he was going to be sick. 

“Red. Do I need to be worried about her?”

Wendy. Bill had seen him with Wendy. Oh God. His shaking got worse and his tongue tripped as he sputtered, “She never touched me. I didn't-I didn't even talk to her that much. I wasn't—”

“You idiot.” Bill leaned down over Dipper, and the teen's knees buckled beneath him. He was close to falling, but managed to catch himself enough not to. Looking back up, he flinched at how close Bill's eye was. Bill's breath blew across his face as he hissed, “She couldn't take her eyes off you!”

Dipper's insides constricted. “She what?”

“You didn't even notice,” Bill growled. “Should I be concerned, or should I go take care of her now?”

“No!” Dipper screamed. Bill's head tilted again and Dipper cowered for a moment, realizing that he'd just raised his voice at a very angry demon who liked to remind him very often that Dipper belonged to him. His throat started closing, but before it did completely he said, “I'll handle it.”

There was a long, painful pause where Dipper's attention flitted to how much he was sweating under that black gaze. “Will you?” Bill asked. “Do you think you have the spine to handle it?” Dipper nodded quickly, unable to open his mouth enough to form words. “I'm not going to have to step in on this one too, am I?”

He was warning him. Bill was warning Dipper. Dipper quaked at what the demon might do. “I can,” he bit his lip, “I can do it.” 

At that, the demon started to calm down. His appearance started to revert back to what was typical and the mindscape slowly, very slowly, faded back to monochrome. “Fine,” Bill uttered once everything was back to normal and Dipper felt okay enough to straighten up.

Then the viper uncoiled and pounced.

 

The human cried out as Bill launched, pinning him down on the wood of the pier. Trapping his legs by sitting on his thighs, two of Bill's hands grabbed Pine tree's wrists and crushed them into the boards. Pine tree's eyes went wide as saucers, chest heaving as the human hyperventilated. The kid gazed fearfully up at him as Bill's free hands started pulling up the young man's shirt. “B-B-B,” he couldn't even get the demon's name out. He was too busy trying to breathe properly, and his shivering was starting to get annoying.

It would only make this more painful for him.

Flashing a thumb and index finger on one of his free hands, Pine tree watched as his already visible talons sharpened and elongated. The kid started shaking his head in lieu of words, practically begging Bill not to do whatever it was the human thought he was going to do. It was sad, really, how no amount of pleading could sway Bill from this. But since Pine tree hadn't been able to recall just who it was who owned him while Red was about, Bill felt the need to give him a physical reminder. 

The name Bill Cipher would look good on Dipper Pines.

The human thrashed as much as he could under the demon's weight, but as soon as Bill started carving into his right side the boy stilled and simply screamed. Bill's eye rolled to the back of his head and for a moment he started chuckling. This. This was something he knew. This was something he could deal with. “Come on,” he mocked. “It can't hurt that bad.”

But Pine tree's eyes were filling with tears as Bill continued to dig his claws into his human's side, indicating that this really was hurting him. Bill scratched particularly deep on one letter, and couldn't stop spewing giggles as Pine tree's legs shook beneath him from the pain. Truthfully, this wouldn't have taken so long if the kid would stop squirming whenever Bill finished a letter. Bill was also enjoying the human's cries a little too much to brand it on him. Sure, branding him with the letters rather than carving them would have taken less time, but it just wouldn't have the same weight.

Bill wanted his Pine tree to remember this. There was no doubt he would now.

When Bill finished, he wiped his hands on his suit, got up, and stared down at the now unmoving human. Written almost perfectly down Pine tree's right side was his name in his cipher. Bill grinned at his good work, then left. The kid would move again when he felt up to it. Then he'd wake up and realize that what Bill had done wasn't confined to just the mindscape.

Bill snickered in anticipation at his reaction.

 

He awoke with a start, sitting bolt upright only to cry out in agony. Falling back down on the mattress, he breathed heavily and stared wide-eyed up at the ceiling. No. No, it couldn't be.

Throwing back the covers, he told himself repeatedly in his head that the slickness he was feeling was just sweat. He told himself that the pain was just the residual effects of what had happened in the dream. He couldn't actually be feeling what he was feeling. It simply wasn't possible.

When he reached the bathroom and turned on the lights, however, he was proven wrong. Staring at himself in the mirror, he paled at the sight of red staining the right side of his night shirt. Fingers twitching, he touched the hem and hesitated. Gulping, he slowly lifted it and hissed each time the shirt had to be peeled off some part of the wound. He raised his shirt until he finally saw what Bill had done to him.

If he'd had the book, he could have deciphered the language thoroughly. However, he didn't really need the guide to guess what it was Bill had written. Dipper started hyperventilating as he stared at the cuts, cuts so deep they would surely scar. “No,” he gasped out. How? How could this have happened?

He should have been worried about how he was going to hide this new brand. Instead, he was too busy trying to fathom how Bill's marks were now transcending the mindscape and bleeding into reality.

The implications were enough to make him throw up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not ready for the next chapter.


	7. Liar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I went really far, guys. Please be warned, this is so much worse than I intended.
> 
> I said I wasn't sure I could write this, but now that I have I feel like the rest is going to be a breeze. As much as writing this can be a breeze.

Dipper quickly discarded the shirt, shoving it under his bed before inspecting the sheets and blanket. Fortunately no blood had escaped his shirt and stained the bedclothes. It was the single bit of relief he was able to entertain that early in the morning.

With the taste of vomit still on his breath, he sat in a lukewarm shower. With soap and a washcloth, he attempted to clean the marks on his side. It was a difficult process, feeling his skin fray and open more each time he dragged the rag across the cuts too carelessly. After a while the stream of water went from red to only tinted pink. By the time he'd thought the wounds were clean enough to turn the shower off, there was no traceable tint in the water.

He didn't towel off so much as pat himself dry, fearing he would start bleeding again. Searching the bathroom, he managed to find only a few band-aids. There was nothing big enough to cover up what Bill had done. He might have actually used the few bandages available to him if parts of the wound were deeper than others. Dipper wasn't sure how, but Bill had managed to make each cut just as deep and even as the next. Head in his hands, he found himself sinking to the floor and resting on the cool tiles. He started shaking again as fear and realization culminated inside all over again. What was he going to do? How was he expected to hide this?

How did he tell Wendy to stay away without upsetting Bill further?

Dipper bit into his fist, feeling the sting of the cuts as he curled in on himself. He wasn't entirely aware of the moans slipping past his fist, not entirely aware of the tears forming in his eyes. The only thing he feared and the only thing he could fully imagine was Bill's wrath. If he could do this, what else could he do?

It wasn't that he couldn't conjure a worse situation. He just didn't want to. He had to force himself to get up and get ready to face another day. Dipper couldn't just sit around and hide. While Bill would probably love that, Dipper had an appearance to keep up. The others had to believe he was fine, that absolutely nothing else was going on aside from the trauma they expected of him. If they suspected anything else at all . . . Dipper couldn't afford to think about it. He didn't have the luxury of paralysis.

With shaking arms and legs, he forced himself up. It didn't matter how early it was, he wasn't about to go back to sleep. Dressing quietly, he slid on as many tops as he was capable. An undershirt, a long sleeved shirt, a t-shirt, a flannel, and at last minute he grabbed a jacket. If he managed to bleed through all of those layers, then he had bigger problems than he anticipated. The most difficult part of the wound was the part that the waistband of his underwear and pants just barely touched. He tried not to wince each time he turned a little too abruptly.

Sliding downstairs, he set up a pot of coffee. When it was done brewing, he was tempted to just drink from the pot rather than bother pouring into a cup. When he heard someone shuffling around the living room, however, he elected to pour instead. Settling down with both pot and mug at the coffee table, he didn't realize just how sick he still was until he caught a strong whiff of the beverage. Forcing the bile back down, he closed his eyes and made himself keep from getting ill again.

He didn't open his eyes as the individual he'd heard shuffling entered the kitchen. Dipper could faintly make out the sound of scratching before Grunkle Stan asked, “Why you up so early, kid?”

Dipper didn't think twice about his answer. “Nightmares.” He then bit his lip. He should have come up with a better answer. He should have said something else, like he just couldn't sleep. Nightmares begged questions, questions he couldn't answer truthfully.

As Dipper ground his teeth before staring down into his coffee, his great uncle asked, “Wanna talk about it?” Dipper immediately shook his head. “It's nothing . . .,” the old man hesitated, taking a seat across from Dipper. The younger was forced to look up by the approach and it was a struggle to keep his expressions in check. This was especially true when Grunkle Stan looked so strangely concerned. “It's nothing serious, is it? You don't wanna talk to someone, like a professional—?”

“No,” Dipper cut him off. Sighing and bringing the still hot coffee up to cover his mouth, he glanced down. “No, I don't need to talk about it.”

There was a long silence as Grunkle Stan retrieved a mug for himself and poured some coffee. Sipping the liquid, Dipper tried not to stare back at the old man as he analyzed him. Dipper tried very hard not to go rigid from the scrutiny of his great uncle, and had no way of making sure he was being somewhat successful. Then Grunkle Stan asked, “You'd say something if it were something weird, right? Something . . . not normal?” Dipper nodded curtly, the lie almost habitual at this point. “Alright.” Grunkle Stan left the kitchen.

When Dipper was alone again, he set the mug down in favor of covering his face with both hands. Shaking all over again, he didn't know if he could wait the extra couple of hours to make his way to school.

 

Wendy couldn't get over how adorable Dipper was now. It wasn't like he hadn't been adorable before. No, he'd always been adorable. It was just that now he was adorable and available, reciprocating the crush he used to have on her wouldn't be as weird. She felt silly about it when she thought hard on the subject. She felt like maybe she'd just gone too long without a boyfriend or wanted attention or something. Then she saw him and Mabel again and suddenly no, it most certainly wasn't just that she wanted someone else in her life. Dipper was legitimately attractive, and he was someone she knew well.

Which was why it struck her as odd when next she saw him on his way home from school and he intentionally avoided conversing with her. That wasn't like him at all.

So when Mabel had elected to take a ride with Pacifica Northwest (which was stranger, didn't they dislike one another?), Wendy took this opportunity to chat up her old friend. The topic she brought up was a little more serious than what she'd previously discussed with him and Mabel. “So the explosion? How you holding up, buddy?”

“Fine, fine,” he murmured absently. Was it just her, or was he avoiding eye contact?

She shook off the thought, saying, “We should hang out some time, you know? Catch some old movies or dumb channels.”

She saw in his face a flicker of want, like he actually would really love to do that. Instead of saying that, however, he appeared to crush the thought and instead blurt out, “No. I don't think so.”

They were quiet, and Wendy felt a pang of sadness at the rejection. She might have grown bitter and left him alone, as she tended to do when someone showed disinterest in her. But there was something off about Dipper. Something was clearly bothering him. Something was very wrong, and she couldn't put her finger on it. “What's gotten into you?” she asked a little more forcefully than she intended.

“What do you mean?” He looked panicked at the question. It wasn't an outward panic. It was more residual, more . . . she couldn't think of the word. She just knew she'd seen that sort of panic before in someone she'd known.

“You're never this quiet? When have you ever been quiet?”

His hands gripped the straps of his backpack so tight she saw the whites in his knuckles. She watched his jaw working and something in his throat tighten. When he finally answered, he reached a hand up as if to instinctively pull the missing cap down to cover his eyes but instead tugged at his bangs, “It's been rough.” His voice was tense and small. “It's been really hard getting over . . . getting through the um . . .,” he stopped, fumbling. He ended the statement with a shrug that bore no meaning or feeling.

The part of her that felt most unsettled about this situation grew moreso. The more she watched him, the more obvious it became that he wanted to get away from her. She saw it in the way he avoided her gaze, the way his palms twitched, and the way he hunched over like he was barely holding himself up. Squinting at him, she asked, “Is that all?” He was still for a moment. Then he nodded. She didn't believe him. “Dipper, you can talk to me. You know that right?” He said nothing again. Only nodded solemnly. His pace started to quicken as they neared the turnoff for the shack. “So talk to me! Something's wrong, and you're not telling me!”

“I'm fine,” he said flatly. Too flatly. “I'm tired, okay?”

“Dipper Pines!” she grabbed his shoulder and spun him to a stop in front of her. Was that a whimper she just heard? “Tell me what's—”

“I survived an explosion!” he finally screamed. After the outburst, he looked more panicked than before. Seeing him so openly fearful, she suddenly felt guilty for pestering him. “I survived. By myself. That . . .,” he was fumbling again, “that bothers me. Okay?”

She should have left it at that. She should have let him turn around and continue back to the shack. Instead, she let her own emotions take hold and found herself pulling her old friend into a hug. She discerned no reaction from him at first, quickly muttering, “Let me help you.” Then she felt him. He was stiff in her arms, completely rigid except for . . . he was shaking. He was shivering profusely against her. Eyes wide, she let him go and stepped back immediately. The fear she'd merely glimpsed earlier was raging full force now, and she had no idea how to help. Was this what survivor's guilt looked like? She wasn't sure. She'd never seen or known or met anyone with it. Even if she had . . . these symptoms didn't look like they belonged to someone who had them.

“I already have help,” were the words that shook her out of her own head. Dipper then turned and made his way back to the shack. Wendy didn't follow. She stared after but didn't follow.

Everything felt wrong and she wanted to know why. Unfortunately, the only person she felt comfortable talking to about all things strange was the one practically running away from her now. Ambling back home, she made the conscious decision to, as soon as she could, speak to Mabel about her brother.

 

Dipper sat frozen on his bed, teeth gritting and eyes widening yet further. His side hurt, everything hurt. Somehow he knew things were only going to hurt worse if he went to sleep, which part of him was compelled to do. He knew it was Bill's influence, could feel the weight of the demon's presence. He'd never felt Bill so heavily before, had never been so terrified. No, not since . . . not since . . . .

He was seconds away from throwing up again. He'd done what he was supposed to. He'd gotten her to back off without telling her what was going on, did everything in his power to draw the attention away from himself and onto what he'd been through. Part of what he'd been through. No one could know what else he'd been through and continued to go through. But Wendy was persistent. She didn't take 'no' lightly, had never taken 'no' lightly. He should have just told her he would hang out with her and then canceled last minute. She wouldn't have questioned him so much, then. How could he be so stupid?

Bill's pressure increased, and Dipper could practically feel the oncoming storm. He didn't want to give in. He wasn't prepared to face the demon, but he knew damn well that he was only pissing Bill off more by struggling against his will. The more he stalled, the worse the experience.

He couldn't bring himself to do it though, couldn't bring himself to succumb. He was too busy berating himself for not having handled the situation better, for letting her touch him. 

Oh God. 

She'd touched him.

Bill was going to kill her.

Only after that realization did he decide to wait no longer. He gave in to the weight of the demon, then watched in terror as the world transmuted to monochrome. Before he could even speak, Bill was pushing him against the wall. Dipper's head cracked against the wall as his innards ceased to function and suddenly he just couldn't open his eyes. He couldn't look at the demon now shouting at him, “ _You were ignoring me!_ ”

Dipper's first response was little more than a squeak. “I'm sorry.”

“You ignored me, and you _letherputherhandsonyou_!”

“I didn't know she was going to—”

Bill's grip tightened and Dipper's eyes fluttered open to see the red face of the demon, black eye glaring down at him as his fangs drew ever closer to the young man. “Do you have any idea what I would like to do to her?”

Dipper's eyes widened at the venom in Bill's voice. “P-please,” Dipper's voice broke off, leaving him only able to shake his head.

“It'll start with a couple of nightmares,” he lowered his tone, voice going gravelly and echoing. “Simple ones, yet gut wrenching. The kind that make her typical ones look like daydreams.”

“Bill, no—”

Bill's grip tightened more yet, and Dipper cried out as claws dug into the sensitive flesh of his arms. “Then I'll slowly take her apart, bit by bit. It'll start off so small and unnoticeable she'll think she's just biting her nails more often, scratching at her skin more than normal. She'll think nothing of the first few pieces of her I'll take.”

“Bill, we—”

Another hand threaded through Dipper's hair and he felt the breath catch on the phrase. “She won't even think it's something external. No, it will all be just another illness, a delusion of the mind. She's just stressed, just self-mutilating over your mundane, insignificant problems and concerns. Whatever you humans concern yourselves over. It will appear as little more than an issue of anxiety.”

“Please don't—”

“It will happen so slowly and maddeningly. She'll never see me coming, the prelude will be so subtle. The pain will be so subtle. And then, when she least expects it—”

“We had a—”

“I'll tear her _apart_!”

“We had a deal!” Dipper's eyes widened and his heart pounded painfully in his chest. Bill froze, and Dipper swore to all that was holy the demon had stopped breathing. Fear should have taken over. Fear should have shut Dipper down as soon as he found himself staring into the face of a pissed off Bill Cipher. Dipper should have shut his goddamn mouth, but instead he started rambling in the heavy air Bill had allotted him. “We had a deal, that you would let me handle it. I handled it. I told her to leave me alone and—”

Dipper's guts twisted as Bill's lipless mouth drew back and revealed the widest, toothiest, sharpest grin coupled with the quietest, darkest laugh he had ever heard from the demon. Dipper shook, legs involuntarily kicking away from the demon even though there was literally nowhere else for him to go. No escape, no out. Exactly how Bill liked it with him. “You call that handling it?” Dipper felt tremors all over his body, felt his teeth clattering together as his tongue and voice failed him utterly. He watched Bill's face intently, waiting for a sign or a change. The demon stopped, looking up with mouth pursed as he thought about what Dipper had just reminded him of. Dipper jolted when Bill finally burst out with, “Fine!” There was a moment where Dipper sighed in relief, a moment when he closed his eyes and relaxed in Bill's grip. This was a mistake. This was a bigger mistake than resisting Bill's initial summons. “Now for payment.”

With the flick of his wrists, Dipper was suddenly off the wall and on his stomach with Bill hover over his back. The demon's legs tangled with his while he tried to sit up. Bill pushed him back down, shoving his face into the mattress and smothering him. A hint of confusion set in, but was very quickly replaced with horror as two of Bill's hands worked at his layers upon layers of shirts. As articles of clothing were being removed above, Bill's other hands tugged at his jeans below. Before he could hold his tongue, before he could stop, Dipper let out a panicked, “No!” into the mattress.

“No?” Bill leered. He paused above Dipper, and the young man couldn't help clenching his fists in the sheets to try and quell the shivering. Suddenly he felt the demon's breath tickling the shell of his ear and his heart stopped. Digging himself deeper into the mattress involuntarily, he felt foolish. There was no escaping. He couldn't get away. The words repeated themselves over and over in his mind, but they still didn't sink in until Bill whispered, “You must have forgotten who owns you.” Dipper cried out as Bill jerked his shirts up, the parts of the clothing that had adhered to his cuts tearing them open all over again. The shirts were shoved up past his chin, getting stuck on his head and arms and effectively trapping him. He jerked his arms, trying to free himself of the makeshift straitjacket. He had successfully gotten his head out of the shirt when Bill yanked his pants down, complete with underwear. Dipper felt himself go red and hot from his face all the way down to his chest. “You also clearly forgot your end of the deal. I can take anything from you.” Ignoring the soreness on his sides, he ignored the screaming in his brain long enough and frantically shimmied down the bed in an attempt to get away. He felt his vocal chords straining, letting out several cries without fully hearing or understanding what he himself was saying. Kicking away, he let out a scream when the demon grabbed him by the thighs and pulled him back beneath him. “Oh, no you don't. You can't fight, remember?”

“Bill, please don't!” Dipper shouted. Everything inside him roiled and turned and screamed. Everything in his mind faded to a static, thoughts fuzzing over as fear ensued. “Bill, I—”

He was cut off as Bill dragged claws over his back, digging trenches with his nails and ringing yet more screams from the young man. Dipper felt his eyes begin to water, whimpers falling from his lips and fists balling inside the shirts. No escape, no getting away. His chest and gut hurt from the way his insides curled. “You'll never learn, will you?” Bill's hands slid up the backs of Dipper's thighs, and he felt utterly paralyzed under the demon. Eyes wide, Dipper couldn't stop shaking. He couldn't stop bracing for what he knew was coming, what he knew he wasn't going to be able to stop. “So disappointing. I thought we were over this.” A finger trailed down Dipper's spine and gritting his teeth didn't do anything to muffle his whines. “You shouldn't be fighting me anyway.”

“Not this,” Dipper muttered through gritted teeth, squeezing his eyes shut as he started hyperventilating. “Anything but this.”

Bill's fingers teased the now bleeding cuts as the digits on his other two hands dug into his thighs. Dipper buried his face in the shirts, trying harder to muffle the whimpers he couldn't stop. “Looks like you need a reminder of your first lesson.” Despair seized him. He knew he should give Bill what he wanted. He knew he should keep quiet, speak when prompted, get through, survive. He knew that the demon could make this more painful than Dipper could imagine, but still he grit his teeth and breathed loudly through his nostrils before turning his head to look up at Bill. He knew that had been a mistake. He knew that was the wrong move as soon as Bill grabbed a handful of his hair and shoved his face back down into the mattress. “Haven't seen that defiant look in a long time, Pine tree.” Dipper huffed and whimpered into the fabric as he felt something press against his rear. His eyes were round as saucers and his whole body tensed again as it started circling his hole. “I didn't miss it.”

“Bill, please!” he screamed into nothing, knowing his pleas fell on deaf ears. The threatening motions confused him, paralyzed him. He wanted to move, but Bill was holding his legs and head and the mattress was suffocating him. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't move his arms, he couldn't fight.

Just as he was about to start struggling all over again, Bill leaned down and whispered in his ear, “If you struggle, the deal is off.” The moment of disarmament was enough. It was enough to seal Dipper's fate, enough to force him into resignation. It was also enough time for whatever it was circling him to push in at an agonizing rate. Dipper cried out, the stretch making his back arch and _thing_ twisting and moving inside of him in ways that made him grow ill. “Say goodbye to Shooting star's beautiful teeth.” Bill pushed in all the way, and Dipper shuddered around him as tears fell freely and his body showed every possible sign of rejecting the invasion. “Say goodbye to Red and that pretty, pretty hair of hers.” Bill's grip on Dipper's head loosened and he stroked the young man's head almost affectionately. Dipper choked on his own bile, body spasms racking him while white hot pain tore through him. “Her hair, oh I actually think that would have been the first to go.”

Bill started moving and the agony became searing. Dipper's throat hurt so much his breath caught and his vocalizations ceased altogether. Everything hurt. His insides hurt from straining. His body hurt from the pressure and the abuse. He was trapped inside his own head, and everywhere Bill was touching him his flesh felt burned and marred. The first sound that escaped his lips as he was being suffocated by the mattress and utterly bruised and bloodied by the slow yet hard thrusts was a sob. “Bill . . .,” the word came out broken and distorted to his own ears. He wasn't sure it was a plea for mercy, a cry of agony, or just the first word stuck in the forefront of his addled brain. Whatever it was, it caught the demon's attention.

The next thing Dipper knew, Bill slid out of him and left him hollow and sore. Dipper could feel blood on his legs and felt sick all over again as Bill turned him over onto his torn back. He started to arch against the contact, only to have the marks on his side and the hollow soreness he felt betray him. His face was covered in tears that stained his sheets. Blood stained his sheets. When he woke up (if he woke up) there would be so much blood. The thought made his throat tighten in protest of the cry he wanted to release.

Bill grabbed his hips roughly, thumbnail digging into the cuts he'd left previously as he pushed back into Dipper. The young man's mouth went agape, eyes half lidded and arms pulling against the entangled shirts. He felt the material loosening on his forearms, but made no further move to pull free. There was little point.

No escape, no getting away. All he could do was survive now.

“I hate having to hurt you, Pine tree. Believe me.” He watched Bill through his partially opened eyes. The demon's color had faded from red to gold again, a hand coming up to push back his bangs and stroke his hair in that way that mocked tenderness. More tears slid from Dipper's eyes as Bill's last hand gripped his jaw and forced his gaze on the demon. The only way Dipper could escape the look, that horrific look on Bill's face that said Dipper was his object, his toy, his possession, was to close his eyes. “I'll stop this. Do you want me to stop this?” Everything in Dipper begged him to say 'yes,' but what little part of his mind that was functioning knew that would anger Bill. Dipper was already in so much pain he worried he wouldn't be able to take anymore, though. Instead of an answer, all that came out of Dipper's mouth was another set of whimpers. He was mortified to hear Bill chuckle at him as he closed his eyes. “Is that so?” he asked, as if Dipper had actually answered him. The hand in Dipper's hair dropped to his chest and suddenly Dipper screamed again as Bill raked another set of marks down his chest and uninjured side. Hand still gripping Dipper's jaw, he proceeded with, “Now then. I hope you still have your vocabulary.” Dipper's vision went white as Bill thrust in particularly deep, the thing inside him twisting more and more before Bill leered, “Or not. All you need to know is two words, really. Let's begin.” The hand on Dipper's jaw tightened, Dipper's hands pulling free of the shirts then and immediately gripping Bill's wrist like that was going to make a difference if the demon decided it would be more productive to throttle him. “To whom do you owe your life?”

Dipper's voice cracked, coming out as little more than a rasp. “You.”

Bill pulled back and slammed into him so roughly Dipper screamed and bucked despite his other injuries. “Let's not dodge names, now. I'd like to hear you say _exactly_ who. Let's try again: to whom do you owe your life?”

Dipper choked on sobs, just barely forcing out the name, “Bill.”

Another harsh snap of Bill's hips and Dipper was certain he would never hear, see, or feel anything the same way he did before. Everything burned and everything hurt and he couldn't imagine what life had been like before he'd felt so much pain. “Full name, please. I'm not just any Bill.”

Breath coming out in huffs, Dipper answered, “Bill Cipher.”

He flinched, expecting another thrust. When he only received a pat on the head, he whined instead at the way the blanket bit into his slashed back. “To whom do you belong?”

Dipper's answer was softer this time, but his voice was no less strained or cracked. “Bill Cipher.”

The pat turned into what pretended to be a comforting rub. Dipper managed not to flinch as Bill's teeth neared his ear. “Who can take away everything you hold dear?”

Dipper's guts clenched all over again and it was a fight to get the words out. “Bill Cipher.”

“Who knows what's best for you?”

“Bill Cipher.”

“Who permits you to continue living as you do when he could just kill you?”

“Bill Cipher.”

“Who is in control?”

“Bill Cipher.”

“Do you understand what you're saying?” Dipper couldn't give a verbal reply, by now tears streaming down his face. He wanted to answer, wanted to obey if for no other reason than to get Bill off of him. But with his mouth open uselessly and his head held so fast, he couldn't. He couldn't say anything, but he certainly started whimpering as Bill started slamming into him again, a thrust punctuating each syllable as he repeated, “Do. You. Under. Stand. What. You're. Say. Ing?”

“Yes!” Dipper screamed, but the slamming didn't stop. The agony didn't stop. Bill's claws scraped and bit into his hips, the hand on his jaw growing ever tighter and the other hand tangling in his locks. Dipper had thought his lungs would collapse, that his heavy breathing was the thing that would kill him. He thought that until fangs sank into his shoulder and the thrusting sped up and he was shouting all over again and his skin burned and everything hurt. Everything hurt, everything hurt, everything hurt and it wasn't ending, it was never going to end, he wouldn't live to see the end—

Dipper was face down in his bed. He was clothed. The light of the setting sun was pouring through the window and coloring his and Mabel's undisturbed room. As soon as he moved, though, he felt them. He felt the claw marks, the bite, the . . . the . . . .

A pained cry spilled forth from him as he pushed up onto his arms, the sound quickly followed by the bile he couldn't release in the nightmare Bill had created. He wretched until there was nothing left in his stomach, until the sight of the blood on his sheets could only evoke dry heaving, until the only thing left to replace the heaving was a rack of sobs. He shook, body burning and aching and tearing in places he hadn't thought would be torn. He covered his mouth with one hand trying to smother the sound, for there was no hope of stopping the cries he unleashed. On his knees, he wrapped his other arm around his middle only to be reminded that he and his bed were covered in blood and sickness, that everything had been as real as though it weren't in a dream.

And for the first time since being in Gravity Falls, Dipper whimpered, “Help me,” only to realize no one could hear him. “Please, help me,” he begged, only to realize there was not a single person on the face of the earth capable of helping him.

 

In the back of Bill's mind, he heard the familiar cry again. The cry that told him he'd gone too far, that he'd pushed the kid too much. Watching the boy crumbling into such sweet, complete submission and terror, however, was enough for him to ignore the voice. It was enough, so long as he stayed this way.

And he had no doubt Pine tree would stay this way for a very long time.


	8. Rumored Nights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I've said I update every other week, but I'm gonna die if I don't finish this ASAP.

Wendy was thinking so hard that she didn't even take notice when the limousine she'd seen Mabel get into appeared again on her way home. She hardly noticed it come to a screeching halt and reverse, only looking up when she heard Mabel calling out her name. Looking up, she saw the younger girl leaning out the window waving at her from the road. She was slightly red in the face and neck, like she'd been doing _something_ before pulling over to greet her. “Where's Dipper? I thought you guys were going to hang out.”

She felt sick all over again at the thought of Mabel's twin. Rubbing the back of her head, she wanted to talk to her about it. She wasn't sure she should, though. No, not while she was in a limo with God knows who. “He . . .,” she bit her tongue. She needed to say this. She needed to be upfront with Mabel. Mabel, of all people, deserved to know what was worrying her about Dipper. “He said he didn't wanna hang out. I tried to get him to talk, but . . .,” she held up her hands, but couldn't finish. She didn't realize how upset this was making her. No, not until she tried to explain it to her.

Mabel turned towards a voice inside the vehicle. Wendy could just hear her answer the voice with a, “Yeah,” before she slid back into the vehicle and opened the limo door. “Get in,” she told Wendy.

Usually, Wendy wouldn't take rides in strange vehicles even if a friend of hers was inside. There were just too many dangers, dangers that college had really reinforced for her. But this wasn't about her, it was about Dipper. Dipper was more important to her than a set of strictures she placed on herself while on campus. Sliding into the vehicle, she didn't see who it was Mabel was sitting beside until she'd settled in and the door had closed. Looking up at the other girl (who was equally red in the face and neck), Wendy couldn't stop herself blurting out, “I thought you and Pacifica were enemies.”

Pacifica huffed and folded her arms. “It's a long story,” Mabel answered.

“Totally don't have time for it,” Pacifica added.

“Now tell me what happened with my brother,” Mabel interjected, cutting the chase and getting straight to what was concerning her.

Wendy sighed, fumbling for more to tell. “I asked him to hang out, he said no. I asked him why, he said he'd had a rough time lately. I get that. I totally do. But everything just felt off about it, you know?” She was gesticulating with her hands as if she could re-illustrate the scene for them. “I asked him to talk to me about it. I begged him to. I even hugged him and he acted . . . repulsed.” She wasn't sure that was the right word, but it felt right at the moment. “He acted like . . . like he was scared. He _looked_ like he was scared. To death!” Wendy looked down, hands dropping to her lap. Absently, she recalled something Dipper had said. The statement nagged at her, but she didn't know why. Not until she asked, at least. “Mabel, has Dipper been talking about what happened? To anybody?” 

Wendy heard no answer, so she looked up. Not only was Mabel shaking her head, but her eyes were wide as saucers and she'd gone pale. Mabel murmured, “He hasn't spoken to me about anything.”

Wendy squinted. “He told me he had help, that he had someone. If it's not you, then who is it?”

“I don't know.” Mabel's eyes wandered as she thought aloud. “He . . . he just hasn't talked. All he does now is . . .,” she covered her mouth with both hands to hide what sounded like a strangled gasp. Pacifica patted Mabel's arm, trying to encourage her to finish. When Mabel choked out the words, she said them as if she knew something they didn't. “All he does is sleep.”

Mabel was shaking. Pacifica actually moved to wrap an arm around her shoulders, squeezing her girlfriend (Wendy guessed they were girlfriends) tight. Wendy couldn't recall having seen Mabel that scared, and that bothered her about as much as Dipper's reaction bothered her. “You and Dipper have seen a lot of scary things,” Wendy wondered aloud, “but I've never seen either of you like this.”

There was a pause as Mabel looked up at Wendy, her gaze having drifted off and lost focus on the present. Then Pacifica added, “I might have to agree, actually. The two of you don't scare easily.”

Mabel didn't answer for a long while. When she finally did, she set her jaw and clenched her fists. Blatantly ignoring their statements, she declared, “We need evidence.”

Wendy and Pacifica looked at each other, confused at the statement. “Evidence of what?”

“Dipper always said that in order to accuse someone of anything, you needed evidence. I think I know what's going on, but I need to prove it first.”

“Prove what first?” Wendy asked.

“What do you think is going on?” Pacifica added almost simultaneously.

“Look,” Mabel said, holding up a shaky hand. “I jump to conclusions a lot. I think I'm right here, but I don't want to just out and say it.” She looked down as she added, “I don't want to get his attention before . . . before I know.”

“His?” Pacifica asked at the same time Wendy asked, “Whose?”

“Never mind that. I just need to focus on getting some evidence.”

“We're helping,” Wendy automatically said.

Mabel looked nervous to accept the help. Wendy couldn't tell if it had to do with her theory or if she just didn't want them to know what her theory was. Either way, she asked, “Are you sure?”

Pacifica answered for Wendy. “Yes. Just tell us what to look for?”

Wendy nodded as Pacifica instructed the driver to take them to the Mystery Shack.

 

Curled up in the tub as freezing water rained on him, Dipper tried to forget the pain. The pain had been so unbearable, so hindering, he had almost collapsed onto his ruined bedsheets again. If it weren't for the terror of being found like that, he might have done so just from pure exhaustion. He hurt so much, but he had to keep hiding. He had to fight it long enough to get rid of the sheets and clothes that clearly showed that he'd been lying when he'd declared the explosion to be his only concern.

He'd bundled up the bedsheets and covered his mattress with the one blanket that hadn't been sullied. Checking the hallways and house carefully, he made sure his great uncle was giving a tour and Soos was busy before sneaking to the laundry room. He struggled against the feeling of blood seeping through his shirt and pants, successfully managing not to whimper each time he took a step. God knows he wanted to. He wanted to break down every time he moved, but he didn't. Pouring a combination of bleach and soap into the washing machine, he started it before sneaking back through the hallway, grabbing a handful of towels out of one of the closets, and back up to his and Mabel's bedroom. Grabbing an armful of clothing without thinking distinctly about what he was going to put on after the shower, he wound up collapsed on the floor again holding himself and trying to steady his breathing. He shook, gaze flitting under the bed where the shirt that had been bloodied the night before lay. If he could just get back up, he would undress and shove the new set of bloody clothing under there too. He promised himself he'd burn them all later.

Peeling the shirts off had him sobbing into his wrist as he tried to smother the noise in case anyone was listening. He almost didn't remove his pants and underwear. Dipper seriously considered just getting in the shower with his bottoms still on, but he couldn't. He had to get them off. He never wanted to see or wear them again. The only time he wanted to see them again was in a fire pit.

Wrapping himself securely in the towels he'd grabbed, he took himself and the armful of clean clothes to the bathroom and was now in the shower. He'd avoided looking into the mirror. He didn't want to see the marks that had bled through the mindscape and into reality. He didn't want to see what had become of him. The water had long since numbed him, but he still felt everything. He felt the gaping wounds that had stopped tainting the clear water. He felt the dull ache inside of himself that went from simply noticeable to absolutely agonizing as soon as he moved. He felt Bill's presence, felt him lingering at the edge of his mind. He felt the demon's fingers in his hair, the sensation wanting to be something akin to comforting but sickening him instead. He felt hopeless. He felt helpless. He felt fatigued, too fatigued to even think about resting. Most of all, he felt drained. He wondered how he hadn't bled out enough to warrant another trip to the hospital. He should go to the hospital. He'd been torn apart from the inside out. He needed a doctor.

His breath stuttered at the thought of anyone seeing him like this. Before he knew it, tears were streaming down his cold cheeks and he had never felt so alone. Burying his face in his forearms, his insides screamed in protest at his display of emotions. He fought to choke everything back down, throat still sore and voice still stolen from the last round of sobs. He couldn't remember a time when sleep meant rest and friends and family meant safety. Now there was only Bill and ever present peril. He didn't know what it felt like to not be in pain anymore, to live and laugh without fear. To live used to be so trivial, so certain that he had never imagined what it would be like if he wasn't even allowed that. He'd thought he'd known survival, thought he'd needed survival. Now, all he longed for was death.

But death couldn't even save him now.

 

Mabel burst through the doors of her home with Wendy and Pacifica in tow. Grunkle Stan had just finished a tour and was ushering people to the gift shop when he asked, “What's up, kid?”

“Where's Dipper?” she asked a little more forcefully than she intended.

Grunkle Stan bulked. “I haven't seen him. I thought he was with—”

“He's in the shower. Been in there a little bit, now,” Soos interrupted, carrying a ladder past them and out the door.

“Excellent! Come on!” Mabel cried, pulling the two girls with her.

Just as they were rounding a corner, she heard her great uncle call out, “Don't I get an explanation?” The lack of response was the only answer she could give at the time.

“Why is it important he's not here?” Pacifica asked as she and Wendy followed Mabel upstairs.

“Because if I know my brother, he'll try to stop us.” Crashing through the door to their room not-so-subtly, she pointed indistinctly into the room and declared, “Look for anything strange.”

Mabel attacked her brother's bookshelf, knowing that was the first place he would go to keep all of his secrets. Maybe she'd find the journal. The journal might have an answer in it. It always had before. Meanwhile, Pacifica held her hands close to her chest, as if horrified of the very thought of encountering anything of Dipper's with her bare hands. “What counts as strange, exactly?” she asked.

“Yeah, girl,” Wendy said, going for the dresser and pulling open drawers. “This is Gravity Falls. What brand of strange do you want?”

“Summoning circles. Candles. Matches,” Mabel started listing as she moved from the bookshelf to the closet, where Dipper had been known to shove things. She was still someone convinced there was an invisible wizard in there from the time they were kids. “Blood. Busted pens.”

“Busted pens aren't weird,” Pacifica said, sitting down on Mabel's bed as she nervously looked about the room.

“They are when my brother hasn't been thinking hard enough to chew on them.” Flipping through items in the closet, she tried listing off more things. “Teeth. Specifically deer teeth. If you find a top hat and a bow tie, tell me!”

“I think I get what you're saying,” Wendy said a little shakily as she continued going through Dipper's drawers. “He still has pictures of me in his socks?”

“Ew!” Pacifica declared as Mabel turned to see Wendy holding up said pictures.

“Guess so. He can say he did all he wants, but he never stopped crushing on you,” Mabel said, a little surprised that he did, in fact, still have pictures of Wendy. She didn't miss the color that flooded Wendy's cheeks as she replaced the pictures and continued rummaging the last drawer.

Mabel had just closed the closet door when out of the corner of her eye she saw Pacifica stand up and move towards Dipper's bed. Pacifica squinted, as if noticing something. A bell dinged in Mabel's skull. “Great idea! Check under the bed.” Before Mabel could move forward and do just that, Wendy was on her knees and reaching.

“That's not what I was thinking,” Pacifica declared as she hesitantly reached out towards the mattress. “Does Dipper sleep on a bare mattress?”

“No, he—,” Pacifica pulled back the blanket and they both froze, the sentence catching in Mabel's throat.

Everything inside her came to a grinding halt. She couldn't breathe to speak, but even if she couldn't breathe speaking was the least likely thing to occur. She'd probably scream, or cry, or something definitely not speak. In a way, it was good she couldn't breathe as her eyes fixed on the large stain on the bed. It wasn't a stain, really. It wasn't dark enough to constitute a stain. No, it was fresh.

The quiet was only broken when Pacifica asked, “What are we dealing with here?”

Mabel felt her breathing start up again. She blurted out without thinking, “A demon,” and immediately covered her mouth to keep from vocalizing any further. It didn't help. What came out was a mix between a sob and a scream, which compelled Pacifica to step back and put an arm around her. While she appreciated the warmth, it didn't deter the onset of illness that sprung up inside her.

Her condition worsened when Wendy drew back from under the bed, face pale as she stared down at a bloody bundle of jeans and shirts. Mabel's sobs intensified as her knees buckled. Oh God, no. Please no, don't let this be real. She pinched herself in the shoulder, hoping against hope that she would wake up. She didn't. Oh God, it was real. It was real and it had happened (had been happening) right beside her the entire time.

Mabel choked on her noises as Wendy stood on wobbly legs, joining Pacifica in her attempts to calm the younger girl. “Listen, Mabel,” Wendy's hands were shaking, voice trembling, “we have to keep it together, okay?”

“I let this happen,” she sputtered before she realized what she was saying. As the words came out, she realized they held truth. She'd known Dipper was having nightmares. She'd known who those nightmares often featured. She'd noticed he was sleeping more and more, almost like he was compelled to, like he had no choice. She'd thought it had just been depression, but she should have known. She should have known Dipper wouldn't succumb to something like depression. Not this simply. Not this easily. He had to have been pushed. Someone had to be controlling him. “I should have known better—”

“No!” both girls declared at once. Wendy and Pacifica exchanged glances momentarily before Wendy said, “Okay. Here's the plan. Mabel,” she looked up at the older girl with red, tearful eyes, “you're going to take these to your uncle.” Wendy held the bundle of clothes out to Mabel. She delayed to touch them, hands wavering as they lowered from her face and reached for the bloody garments. When her fingers touched them, she squeezed her eyes and lips shut trying to fight back the sickening feeling in the pit of her stomach. She focused on Wendy's words more than anything else, trying to block out the sensation of chilling blood on one of her fingertips. “Tell him what you know. Stan Pines will know what to do. He _has_ to. We are _not_ going to panic.” That was harder to follow, as it was clear she and Wendy were already panicking. Pacifica was the only one managing to keep a level head at the moment. “I'm going back to my house—”

Mabel's eyes shot wide. “No, don't leave me here—”

“You are not alone here, Mabel Pines,” Wendy shushed her. “You have your uncle. You have Soos. As long as we keep our shit together, we'll have Dipper. Right now, he needs you.” At that, Mabel clamped her mouth shut and nodded tightly. “I promise, I'll be back. Dipper probably shouldn't be approached while Pacifica and I are here. We want the truth without embarrassing him to death. I just need to get some clothes and stuff to stay the night, because dammit we are fixing this. Okay?”

Mabel nodded again, a little stronger this time. Letting out a shaky breath, she wiped at her nose and eyes. When she was sure her feelings wouldn't betray her again, she said, “None of us should be alone right now.” Gulping down the rest of her sobs, she wiped her eyes again and added, “He'll be onto us soon.”

“I'll give you a ride home,” Pacifica offered to Wendy.

“Thanks.”

“I'll make sure she gets back safely.” Mabel nodded, accepting Pacifica's reassurance.

“For now, let's get your uncle,” Wendy said. “Let's act quickly.”

Mabel clutched the bundle of clothes to her, trying hard not to look down at what she was holding as she was pulled downstairs toward Grunkle Stan.

By the time she'd gotten to him and the girls had departed, he didn't say anything. She didn't say anything. They didn't need to. He looked at the clothing in her arms and immediately said to the unknowing customers, “Tour's canceled.”

 

Facing away form the mirror, it was a struggle not to look at himself as he dressed. Dressing was hard enough. He didn't need to see what he was covering up on top of that. By the time he had patted himself as dry as possible and was clothed, he was still shivering from the numbing shower and stinging wounds. The cold helped him ignore what still hurt. Picking up the remaining clothes he hadn't needed to bring and now bloody towels (what he would give to just not leave a trail of blood everywhere), he started towards the laundry room again. He decided he'd wait there to start another load and also change out his sheets, just in case he hadn't used enough detergent and bleach. The bedclothes would probably be spotted. He couldn't bring himself to worry about that. No, not while he had other things worry about.

Clutching the towels and clothes to his chest (which was a mistake, as he felt the cuts Bill had left start to reopen), he was about to pass through the kitchen quietly when he stopped. Mabel, Soos, and Grunkle Stan were there at the table, Mabel's face streaked like she'd been crying. Dipper's insides clenched as he was about to ask what had happened when he saw them. The clothes. The clothes he'd shoved under his bed and out of sight. They weren't under his bed anymore. No, they were on the kitchen table as Grunkle Stan leafed through them, face pale and eyes bulging.

Dipper's flesh crawled and he was sure he was going to be sick again as the words, “We need to talk,” froze him solid.


	9. Stockholm Syndrome

No. No, not now. Not after Bill had . . . not after he'd been . . . .

Dipper stood stock still, afraid to move. He felt his knees wobbling, threatening to give under him. He should run. Running was the best option. But where would he run to? Where would he go? That was stupid. He knew the woods better than anyone. What was waiting for him in the woods? That was a bigger concern.

Grunkle Stan approached, and Dipper couldn't move. His eyes were wide, his legs weak, his very soul tired and longing for rest. But he couldn't move. He couldn't think. Run, his head screamed. Run before they can ask. Run before they can know.

But they already knew. He felt that intrinsically, and it made him quake to conjure what Bill could do to them. What he would do to them. Oh God, no.

His chest tightened, anxiety taking control. He shook as Grunkle Stan came to stand before him, Dipper ducking his head down and squeezing his eyes shut to keep from looking at his great uncle. He pressed the towels and shirts tighter to his chest, fabric biting into the scratches and cuts. He felt the color drain from his face, knuckles going white and insides twisting to the point that if he had anything left in his guts he'd get sick again.

“Kid, talk to us. Tell us what's been going on?” his uncle encouraged. It was so strange, hearing those words fall from the mouth of Stanford Pines. He was not the calming and reassuring type, and he sure as hell had never been either of those things to Dipper. His one goal for a long time had been to toughen Dipper up. Look at him now. He couldn't even look his family in the eyes.

He heard Mabel get up and come over. He opened his eyes just enough to see their feet and nothing else. “Dipper, please.” She made like she wanted to hug him and he flinched. She stopped, and a series of voices began berating him for flinching in his mind. You should know better, the voices said. Stupid idiot, you should know by now not to flinch.

“Don't crowd him,” he just barely heard Grunkle Stan whisper. Dipper squeezed his eyes shut again, gritting his teeth as he felt his wounds reopen. He already felt crowded. It was too late not to crowd him. “Son, talk to us. Please.”

He couldn't. Didn't they understand? He couldn't talk about it. He was barely opening his mouth. He couldn't get down enough air to form a coherent sentence. All he could do was whisper, “I can't.”

There was a long pause that only made Dipper's insides clench again, this time bringing back the pain of the latest encounter almost full force. He almost doubled over, but when he saw Grunkle Stan and Mabel both reaching for him he took a few steps back. They stopped, and he managed to stay upright long enough to quell the heavy breathing that resulted from the agony. “Just give us a name,” his great uncle said. Dipper shook his head, ignoring the sting of the bite in his shoulder as he grit his teeth again. He knew they knew the name, they just wanted him to confirm it. He couldn't. He wouldn't. “Dipper—”

“He'll kill you,” the young man bit out before he could stop himself. He wanted to press himself into a dark corner, somewhere secluded where no one could find him. He wanted to hide. For so long he had wanted to just hide, lie down, rest, die. For so long he wanted to escape, but he knew there was no escape. There was no way out for him. Bill had destroyed him almost completely, and now he was going to destroy his family too.

Dipper turned away and his back hit one of the walls in the hall. He let out a cry, less because of the impact on the marks in his back and more because he was so close. He was so close to being so completely broken that he couldn't even bring himself to look at the faces of those he would lose. He dropped the lump of fabric he'd had in his arms, contemplating sliding down the wall only to feel the remainder of the abuse ricocheting through his body. He let out another cry, covering his face with both hands as his uncle and sister drew near. He started shaking his head again despite the fact that no one had asked anything.

“Dipper, we're going to fight him,” Mabel said, but her words sounded fuzzy to him. “We're going to fight him, and we're going to make sure he doesn't hurt you—”

“You can't,” he whimpered, doubling over again. This time they let him fall. He landed on his knees, leaning against the wall and curling in on himself. “You can't fight him.” He was shaking again. Was there ever a moment where his entire being wasn't shaking anymore? He couldn't remember. He didn't think so.

It was Grunkle Stan who spoke up this time. “We've done it before. We'll do it again.”

“Trust us,” Mabel pleaded.

He wanted to. More than anything, he wanted to trust them. He wanted to believe that they could fight Bill and they could win, but he couldn't. He was going to lose them. They were going to lose. Oh God, look at what he'd caused. All this because he couldn't keep his mouth shut. All this because he couldn't just die like the others had, no. He had to catch the attention of a curious turned obsessed demon. This was his fault. This was all Dipper's fault.

His shoulders shook as he dry heaved, no tears coming this time. He heard someone shooing Mabel and his great uncle away from him, but didn't look up to see who it was. He couldn't look up. He couldn't look. It was his fault. All his fault.

He curled tighter, ignoring the lances the movement sent through him. He blocked out the voices, scared to listen. Scared to hear.

He was going to lose everything and he couldn't even fight.

 

As Soos sat with Dipper in the hallway, Stan yanked a drawer open in the kitchen and pulled a pen and a piece of paper out. Slamming the paper down on a table, he set to scribbling out sigils he shouldn't be surprised he still remembered. “Mabel, get some of your chalks. Put these,” he gestured to the first one, “on every door, window, crack in the wall, anywhere he can slip in.”

“Couldn't he be here now?”

Smart girl. “Not for long.” Pointing to another sigil, he said, “Go to the living room. Draw this two times,” he held up two fingers, “on opposite sides of the room. Make both beg enough for three people to stand in comfortably without stepping on the lines.”

“Got it,” Mabel said, nodding.

Stan put a hand to her cheek, rubbing the spot under her eye where tears wanted to fall. He could tell she was barely keeping level-headed, that she wanted to break down too. He understood. He understood completely. Breathing in deep, Stan pointed to the last sigil. “Draw this in the center of the living room. Make sure it doesn't touch any of the other circles, but make it big enough to contain a monster.” At that, Mabel ran off to mark up the shack. Before Stan headed to his room, he stopped in the doorway to see Soos speaking softly to Dipper. Meanwhile, Dipper remained a shaking, sputtering mess. “Don't leave him alone and don't let him sleep,” he uttered to Soos as he passed.

“You got it, Mr. Pines.”

Stan headed to his room. He had a lot of ground to cover and very little time to do it. Closing the door behind him, he checked his hands. Barely shaking. Good. He still had things under control. Not for long. He knew he wouldn't have control for long. He had to get ready. Biting down on his own fears, he started searching his private collection of books and oddities immediately. There was one in particular he absolutely needed to find. He'd hoped he'd never have to use it again. It seemed fate had other plans for him, as always.

His frustration and concern began mounting the longer he had to hunt. It had to be here. It had to be here somewhere. He started pulling more and looking less, remembering the exact texture and appearance of the book enough to toss so many others aside. Then he thought he'd found it, yanking it off the shelf and opening it and . . . this wasn't the one.

Something inside snapped and instead of tossing the book in his hands aside like the others, he wound up hurling it across the room. He cursed, clenching his fists before he started dragging his nails over his own face. He looked at his hands again. They were shaking more. No, he had to keep it together. He had to stay in control.

He realized he couldn't as he started pulling books again, growling out curses and insults as he failed to find the one book. The curses and insults started off incoherent, almost gibberish to his own ears. Countless “Stupid book”s and “Fucking monster”s and other slurs. Then his tongue's musings evolved, and his words became sentences. “I should have known,” snapped him back into focus as the number of books on the shelf dwindled. “I should have seen it.” Was that his voice? He didn't recognize it? It was so quiet compared to his normal voice? “I knew he was lying.” But he'd said nothing. He'd done nothing. Now look what had happened. “Goddammit, kid!” he snarled. Then his hands were shaking uncontrollably and he couldn't stop from collapsing on his knees. How could he have let this happen? How did he fail to see everything unfolding right under his nose? The kid was good at hiding it. He'd been phenomenal at hiding it, just like his great uncle had been able to hide so many things. But he'd done this alone. He'd gone through this thinking he was alone. Stan had taught him to be tough, but he had to face this fact no matter what: no one could survive for long on their own. Not properly. “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry,” he mused, running his hands over his head and knocking off the stupid hat he wore.

Hands trembling and breathing escalating, Stan looked at the bottom shelf and that's when he saw it. The book sat in dust, staring back at him almost mockingly. Sighing and pulling it out, he opening it and started flipping through the pages. He muttered a 'thank you' to whatever god was watching and started getting ready for one hell of a fight.

 

Soos watched his best friend shivering on the ground, holding himself like he expected to be beaten at any second. Soos kept his distance, knowing physical contact was the absolute last thing Dipper would want. Honestly, all Soos wanted to do was pull the kid into a tight hug, but he wouldn't. Not unless Dipper initiated. 

“It's gonna be okay, dude,” Soos tried to tell him. “Mr. Pines and Hambone got this covered.”

There was a long pause as Dipper processed what Soos was saying. Then he shook his head, face pinching as he did so. “It's not okay. It's not going to be okay.”

Soos was torn. He had no clue how to console his friend, whose voice trembled so much he was barely audible. Keeping the same amount of distance, Soos slid forward so that he was sitting beside Dipper rather than across from him. Inhaling purposefully, he asked, “What makes you so sure? Haven't we faced down the dark and terrifying before?”

“It's not like that,” Dipper murmured. “This . . . he's stronger.” Dipper hid his face behind his arms, voice growing softer and more muffled, “I wish he'd let me die.”

Soos bit back a retort, knowing that yelling would do know good. God knew he wanted to. He wanted to do a lot of things, including punch the demon in the face (and several other places) for doing this to his friend. He didn't like anyone making his bro feel this weak. But all he could muster in response was, “Don't say that, dude.”

“Why not?” He sounded so shattered. Soos was about to say something, about to comment on the question when he saw Dipper tugging at his shirt collar. Undoing a couple of buttons with unsteady fingers, Soos wasn't sure what he was doing. That is, he wasn't sure until Dipper pulled his shirt collar to the side and showed the older man his shoulder. Dipper didn't look at him as he said, “He'll do worse,” he choked, then gulped, “now that everyone knows.”

Soos couldn't tear his eyes off the fresh mark, blood threatening to pool in each gash. It took him a moment to realize they were teeth marks, and he almost shuddered imagining how big the perpetrator's mouth must be to leave a wound that size. He remembered looking through the bloody garments Mabel had brought to show them. The number of wounds Dipper must have . . . .

Oh no, Soos, he thought to himself. Don't get sick now. Not right now.

“Dude,” he started, unsure what his face was doing at the moment but he had to be in shock. He couldn't imagine. He couldn't even begin to imagine what Dipper had gone through, what he was going through, but he couldn't just sit here and stare either. As Dipper moved to cover the injury up again, Soos said with more force than he intended, “Let me patch you up.”

“No—”

“Dipper,” Soos said, handing hitting the floor loud enough to make a sharp noise. Dipper's head jerked up, wide eyes locking with Soos's suddenly. He immediately held up his hands apologetically, then proceeded, “We want to help you. We are going to help you. You're our friend, brother, nephew. We're not just going to let you sit here and bleed.”

Dipper's chest heaved, and for a moment Soos thought he was going to pass out. Instead, his brow furrowed and he growled, “You don't understand.”

“No, I don't. I really don't.” Soos put his hands down. “So help me understand. Let me fix something. It's the one thing I'm good at.”

The furrowed brow disappeared and Soos practically saw Dipper screaming internally at himself for talking back. He knew that look. He knew that feeling, at least. That much he could understand.

The young man struggled with himself, Soos watching as he tried to determine the best option. When Dipper finally spoke, his voice wasn't as soft as it was before. “There aren't any bandages in the house.”

“Toilet paper and duct tape. Boom. Field wrap,” Soos offered. “It'll work until we can get you safely to a hospital.”

He saw a corner of Dipper's mouth lift, but it fell just as quickly. Glancing to the side, as if waiting for someone to jump around the corner and strike, he said, “I don't want them to see me. Not like this. Not yet.”

If Soos were being honest with himself, he wasn't sure he could handle seeing Dipper torn up either. Better him than Stan or Mabel, though. Stan was already turning into a ball of rage, and Mabel seemed seconds away from bursting into tears as is. Be strong, Soos, he told himself. Be strong for the others. “We'll go to the break room. Put a sign on the door, or hang up a sheet. Pretend it's a military camp and we're in the medical tent, you know?”

He could see the wheels turning in Dipper's mind, and was relieved when the younger man nodded. Dipper slid slowly to his feet, Soos following his movements but not touching. It hurt him, hearing the way his friend gasped and cried out when he twisted certain ways. When they were both finally on their feet, they made their way to the break room and Soos did exactly as he said he would. He closed the door, created a makeshift sign and taped it to the door, then pulled a sheet from a corner and attached it to the ceiling. Setting a chair for Dipper behind the sheet, he gave the young man some privacy to take his own clothes off. At first, Dipper hesitated. His fingers lingered over the buttons, shaking and uncertain. Before Soos could fumble for words though, Dipper set his jaw, closed his eyes, and started removing the tops he was wearing. Leaving Dipper to that, Soos went around the room picking up what he needed. Toilet paper, duct tape, and some disinfectant he'd started keeping on hand that first summer Dipper and Mabel started coming to Gravity Falls.

“Is now a bad time,” Dipper started to mumble as the chair creaked under his weight, “to ask why you have a stack of toilet paper in your break room?”

Soos smiled, glad that Dipper was trying to talk. It was better than watching him cower in the hall. “My Abuelita. She doesn't think Mr. Pines keeps the bare essentials in stock.”

“She's not too wrong.” Dipper's voice was still shaky, but not nearly as bad as it had been before.

Coming to join him behind the sheet, Soos had to stop and grip the materials in his hands tightly lest he drop them all. No, he hadn't been prepared. He hadn't been prepared at all to see the scratch marks, bite mark, and symbols etched into Dipper's skin. The number of bruises up and down his arms and torso doubled the number of marks, but the cuts were so large and some still bleeding. There was no way Dipper wasn't going to need stitches, or staples, or whatever it was doctors used in these situations.

Dipper had his eyes cast down and closed, and Soos felt awful for reacting so terribly when Dipper really just needed to feel comfortable enough to let him dress the wounds. The young man's blush extended from his cheeks to his neck and upper parts of his chest, and he shook so much Soos was afraid he was getting cold.

Soos approached timidly, trying to remember how to use his hands before applying medicine to Dipper's gashes. When he finally was able to spread some disinfectant on a soft cloth he kept on hand, he moved slow enough to give Dipper time to react or adjust. At first he winced every time Soos touched the cloth to his skin, half whispering apologies for moving. He leaned forward in the chair, sitting as though horribly uncomfortable. Soos asked if he wanted to sit on something softer, but Dipper shook his head. It was like he had to prove himself capable of getting through this. Soos didn't bother telling him that wasn't necessary. There was so much of what Dipper had seen that was left to his imagination, and he didn't want to be an agent of negative reinforcement.

It wasn't until Soos accidentally pulled some of Dipper's hair while cleaning up the bite on his shoulder that the young man really jerked away. Dipper's eyes went wide and Soos stepped back, unsure of what he'd done to garner such a reaction. When Dipper's gaze focused on Soos, losing the glaze that had come over them when he'd reacted, Dipper's expression crumbled. His eyes squeezed shut and he looked down again, covering his face with his palms. “I'm sorry,” he said over and over until Soos stopped him with an 'okay.' This time, he did touch him. Tentatively placing a hand on Dipper's uninjured shoulder, he waited for the boy to pull away. He didn't. Instead, he leaned into the touch. After a few seconds of regaining control on his breathing, one of Dipper's hands left his face to cover and grip Soos's hand. Taking a deep breath, the young man admitted, “I'm scared, Soos.” He started curling in on himself again, but was stopped by Soos's hand on his shoulder. Soos would have let go, but Dipper was holding onto him like he was the last bit of sanity he had left. “I've never been so scared. I can't remember what it's like not to be.” 

The boy's shoulders shook and it took monumental force for Soos to not pull him into a more protective hold. “I know, bro,” he tried to reassure him. He wasn't good at this bit. He wasn't good at reassuring victims of anything, let alone a demonic attack. He felt just as helpless with his hand on Dipper's shoulder as he had sitting beside him in the hallway.

 

“I'll just be a few minutes.”

“Mabel said we should stick together.”

“I won't be long. I swear.”

“Unlike the rest of you, I have know idea how to deal with a demon! A little advice couldn't hurt, could it?”

“It's simple: don't go to sleep, don't accept deals, don't shake hands, and don't be alone.”

“You're leaving me alone now!”

“You have your driver, I'll have my family. It will be okay! I will be right back.”

He watched Red dash into the house and to her room, leaving Blondie behind. This had gone on long enough. Soon, he would have his revenge.

Pine tree, you stupid boy, he thought. You let them figure you out. Now I have to remedy the situation.

And Bill Cipher was full of remedies. Rubbing his bare hands together, he lowered himself to stand behind the girl his Pine tree cared for oh so much. He should end her now. He should use the energy he'd stolen from his prized possession and end her. But no, he would make better use of Pine tree's energy. He supposed he could afford to hear the boy begging him for the lives of his friends and family one more time. Then he'd cut Pine tree's tongue out. That seemed befitting of his crimes. After all, he just couldn't keep his mouth shut.

With that, he forced himself into Red's body. She gave out a strangled cry as he buried her soul elsewhere and they collapsed onto her bedroom floor. When he moved, his hands were hers. When he opened his eyes, he was looking out through hers. He had effectively possessed her. And look at that, he thought as he snapped his fingers and blue flames flickered momentarily. He had some of his powers to play with.

He let out a menacing laugh, feeling the way she scrounged and clawed for an exit within her own body. “You should consider yourself lucky,” he told her, standing up on wobbly legs he was going to have to get used to. “Usually I'd pull you out and toss you into the mindscape. But no. I think I want you to feel everything I'm going to do to the lot of you.” Straightening up, he patted down the body he was in in an attempt to get used to it. Winking each eye before blinking fully, he mentioned, “Thanks to good ole Pine tree, I didn't even have to make a deal to get you to be my puppet. It sure is nice to have a source of backup energy fueling your misdeeds.” He moved over to her dresser, almost stumbling on some objects strewn across her floor. Searching her memory bank, he opened one of the drawers and pulled out a pair of scissors. “Now we can have some fun together.” He snickered as he opened the blades, feeling her cowering within him. “Let's do some bad, bad things, shall we?”


	10. Attack

Mabel was sitting at the kitchen table with Soos and Dipper. Dipper's shirts were too uncomfortably tight on his dressed wounds, so Soos had fetched him one of the bigger shirts from the gift shop before handing him one of the biggest coats in the house because he wouldn't stop shivering. They were waiting for Grunkle Stan to reemerge when Mabel's phone started buzzing. Pulling it out of her pocket, she answered. “Pacifica?”

“Mabel, whatever you do, don't go outside?!”

Mabel was taken aback by how terrified her girlfriend sounded. “What's wrong? Are you okay?” Fear etched itself into her skin. What had happened? Why did Pacifica sound like she'd seen a ghost.

“I'm fine but . . . something is seriously wrong with Wendy—”

“Oh Pine tree!” The lilting voice came from outside the window, barely audible through the glass. It almost made Mabel drop her phone. She watched as her brother's eyes went wide. He was up and out of his chair with his back against the counter so quickly she had no idea how he managed to move through all the bandaging Soos had done. “I've got a surprise for you.”

“Mabel!” she heard her girlfriend screaming on the other end. “Mabel, are you there?”

“Pacifica, what exactly,” Mabel started, creeping over to the window while Soos tried speaking calmly to Dipper, “was wrong with her?” Because she was beginning to think her girlfriend had given her one massive understatement.

“She was flying, and she set my limo on fire.” Mabel peered out the window tentatively and gasped just as Pacifica said, “I think she's possessed.”

This time, Mabel did drop the phone. In the yard stood what looked like Wendy, only her hair had been chopped off, her hat was missing, and those eyes were most certainly not hers. Nor was that smile, for that matter. Wendy had never made such a malicious facial expression before. The most horrifying thing, the one piece of evidence that Pacifica had shared with her that she still wasn't prepared for, was that Wendy was floating just above the ground.

If Mabel were being at all fair to herself, she would know that that wasn't Wendy out there. No, it was Bill Cipher.

“Wendy!” Dipper screamed, eyes wide and frantic as he, too, looked out the window. He was shaking, but Mabel could clearly see he wanted to run to her. He probably would have if Soos hadn't been blocking his way.

“I've gotta hand it to you kids,” the demon leered from outside. “You're not as dumb as you used to be. I mean, you've almost completely warded the house. Signs on the windows, everything. Good for you! Evolution treated you kindly!” Fingers tapping together methodically, the demon then declared, “But you should've done your research, Pine tree.”

“Let her go!” Dipper cried out, trying to shove past Soos only for the larger man to trap him in a bear hug. Dipper cried out at the force, legs giving out and Soos's strength the only thing holding him up.

“Sapping the strength from a human for however many weeks straight has some _major_ benefits for one such as myself,” Bill continued to tease.

“I'm sorry dude. Can't let you go out there,” Soos murmured, tightening his hold. Dipper struggled, whines growing louder as he fought harder.

Bill was relentless. “Imagine what I could do if I had you for a year. Or twenty!”

“Please, let her go!” Dipper screamed over everyone as Mabel moved to help the older man hold her brother back. God, he was shaking. So were they. They were all terrified of what Bill might do.

“For someone so fiercely protective of his friends, you sure did leave a good one out in the open for me to steal. Whoo! I just had to show you what I could do, so I brought her over here to you.” The demon held up his hands, grin widening. “Now watch closely.” He snapped his fingers—Wendy's fingers, those were Wendy's hands—and blue flames engulfed her hands. Mabel could just see beads of sweat at the demon's temples. “This sure is hurting her, Pine tree. I think it feels kinda good. You should hear her scream, though. Wait a little while and her flesh will start to sizzle!”

“No _no_ NO!” Dipper broke out of Soos's hold while the bigger man was shocked and staring out the window at what Bill was doing to Wendy.

Mabel stepped into Dipper's path and he barreled into her. “Bro bro, no!” she cried, but he was determined.

“He's hurting her! I can't let him hurt her!” Dipper cried. There was more fear and resoluteness in his face than she'd ever seen before and that only made the situation so much worse. His eyes were wild and crazed. She couldn't help but think of the adage in which scared horses would run back into a burning barn strictly because it was something familiar, something that should be safe but wasn't.

“He wants you to go out there, Dipper. Please, don't listen to him,” Mabel begged, struggling to keep her brother from bursting out the door and within Bill's reach. Tears spilled from her eyes as she stared out at the demon to see the flames had died down.

Now his smile had faded and his gaze had grown crimson. Both twins stopped squabbling and were caught staring, shaking, waiting to see what it was the demon would do next. “Now, Pine tree, I'm going to count to ten. Each time I recite a number, I'm going to pluck one of her fingernails off her digits. Get ready, kid. My patience is wearing thin.”

Mabel didn't have time to react. Dipper basically threw her aside and dashed through the house. “Grunkle Stan!” she shouted at the top of her lungs as she chased after him.

“One!” they heard Bill shout even through the walls.

“I'll get him!” Soos called to Mabel. She was on Dipper's heels, but he was just out of her reach.

“Two!”

Dipper had the door open a lot swifter than she anticipated. “Stop!” she begged him. Don't go outside, she pleaded inwardly. Don't make me follow you outside. Don't do this to us.

“Three!”

Because even if she knew they were running headlong into a trap, she would keep after him. No demon was going to take her brother from her, not without a fight.

 

Dipper's mind wasn't functioning. His body had long since stopped registering his movements as agonizing. His organs pumped and thumped as he shot through the house and out the door, all the while Bill was counting loud enough for him to hear. At one point, Bill's voice had been all he could hear through the screaming in the fog of his head. Whether it was adrenaline or just fright motivating him, he didn't give a flying fuck. All he knew was that Bill had Wendy.

And as Dipper burst through the door to the shack to meet him, Bill had him too. “Only three, Pine tree?” Bill looked at the fingers from which he'd pulled nails and Dipper's breath catching almost caused him to choke. “Wow. You're no fun. Why is that even a surprise anymore?”

“Please, stop hurting her,” Dipper pleaded, knees buckling and hands raising as he begged Bill.

Bill smirked. “Maybe I will and maybe I won't. There's just so much fun to be had in this sack of flesh.” His eyes went from red to gold. “If you come here, I'll consider letting her go without any further damage.”

“No!” That voice was not Dipper's. He cringed as Mabel ran to stand between him and Bill.

Dipper's blood ran cold. “Mabel, don't! Get back in—”

“Shooting star!” The demon's smile widened further. “Glad you could join us.” The demon's hand crooked then, and Mabel let out a pained shriek as she dropped to her knees clutching her mouth. “Which ones should I take first? Wisdoms? I don't think you need any of those, now, do you?”

“No! Stop!” Dipper screamed as Mabel's whimpers permeated the air. There was a gargling noise that emanated from her throat, and soon blood was dripping freely out of her mouth through her fingers. Dipper paled, stumbling to his feet and over to where Bill stood as one tooth fell from his twin's lips. “Stop hurting her! Leave them alone, please!” he cried as he collapsed to his knees again, this time at the demon's feet. Bill didn't stop. He glared red at Mabel, whose face was streaked with tears as blood ran down her chin. Dipper could clearly see from this angle as another tooth began separating itself from her gums. “Please, Bill, I'll do anything!”

“You've already promised me that,” Bill snarled through gritted teeth without looking at him, completely focused on what he was doing to Mabel.

She let out strangled sob and Dipper felt his chest constrict and his throat clench. No, no stop! Not her! Not them! Leave them alone! All these thoughts ran through his head, but only one came out. “Hurt me!” he begged, throwing his arms around the demon's legs. Bill barely moved, unfazed. “Don't hurt them, hurt me! I can take it, I swear!”

“Can't you see? I'm already hurting you,” Bill's snarls intensified as Mabel let out another cry. A third tooth popped from her mouth and rolled out with a trail of blood behind it.

“Please!” Dipper cried so loud his lungs and throat ached, squeezing his eyes shut against the sight of his sister in agony. “What can I do?! Just tell me, what can I do to make you stop?!”

He didn't expect that to work. He didn't expect that to make the demon stop. Everything inside him was screaming when suddenly Bill's hand dropped and Mabel fell back clutching at her sore jaw that was four teeth fewer. Before Dipper could look up at the demon, there was a hand in his hair. Bill yanked Dipper's head back so hard he felt the roots in his scalp give. The demon forced the young man to look him in the eye (the image of Bill's eyes on Wendy's face burned into his skull) as Bill declared, “You can say goodbye to your dear ones.” Dipper couldn't formulate a response before Bill started dragging him away by the hair, pulling him towards the woods. He clenched his jaw, fighting to keep quiet as he grabbed onto the demon's wrist to give his scalp what little relief he could provide. He cried out as he hit a dip in the ground that reminded him that his body was broken and torn and it was a miracle he was even able to endure this without weeping. “You're mine. They seem to think you're still one of them, but I've told you repeatedly and you've _agreed_ just as often that you belong to me.” The more he spoke, the more enraged he sounded. Heat reverberated off of the demon, burning into Dipper's scalp and making him vocalize and tremble. Bill stopped dragging Dipper long enough to drop down to the ground and leer at him. “In fact, when we get to a secluded enough part of the wood, I'm going to carve my initials into your face.” The demon showed him one of the untouched fingernails. “And these aren't as sharp as my real claws, so it'll take nice and long. You'll be feeling me digging at your flesh for months after. By the time I'm done with your precious Red's body, she'll be dead.” Dipper's insides quaked as Bill laughed in his face. “You should hear her now! Her begs are almost as annoying as yours, Pine tree.” His gaze turned redder and more serious. “You think you've been through _so_ much. Just you wait.” The demon grabbed Dipper's jaw, making him whimper. “I'm not done with you yet. Not even close.”

Dipper squeezed his eyes shut as another voice penetrated his senses, screaming something in another language he thought he should understand. Suddenly Bill's voice ripped through the air and then echoed through the trees, the demon's presence disappearing in response to the Latin that had spilled from someone's mouth. The hand in Dipper's hair dropped and Wendy's body lay on the ground motionless. He didn't stop to shiver at the threats Bill had laid on him. Without missing a beat, he crawled over to Wendy's side and grabbed her by the shoulders. “Wendy?!” he shouted, shaking her. She didn't respond. She remained limp in his arms. Dipper's eyes overflowed with tears as he whimpered, “Wendy please.”

“Get inside, kid,” came the gruff voice of Grunkle Stan.

Dipper looked up at his great uncle, expecting to see disappointment or anger in his face. He saw neither. He saw nothing through the tears, really. “I'm sorry,” Dipper cried as he pulled Wendy's body into an embrace. “This is my fault. He should have punished me. I'm so—”

“You're not the one who should be apologizing,” Grunkle Stan barked, coming to stand on the opposite side of Wendy and Dipper and wrapping his arms under her legs and head. Lifting her off the ground, he encouraged Dipper to follow. “Come on. In the house. Quickly.” Rubbing his sleeve under his nose and across his eyes, Dipper obeyed. Staggering beside his uncle, who carried Wendy while Soos ushered Mabel back to safety, Dipper felt everything inside of him caving and reordering. The shift made his gate unstable. He whined as he stumbled past the teeth and puddle of blood Bill had pulled from Mabel. He was about to grow yet unsteadier when his great uncle said, “There's still time to rectify this.” Dipper wanted to know how he could be so sure. They'd just seen, in action, how much power Bill had gained because of him.

All of this was because of him. Bill was powerful because of him. Wendy and Mabel were hurt, maybe dead because of him. He could have prevented this. He could have kept this all from happening if he just hadn't confirmed their suspicions . . . . 

If he hadn't inadvertently tipped Wendy off . . . .

If he had listened to Bill . . . .

If he had just died . . . .

If he had just . . . .

Nothing would have changed. There was no end. There was no end to the blame. There was nowhere in the sequence of time where he could have possibly stopped any of this from happening. Everything that had happened had been almost strictly Bill acting out, and he couldn't have stopped Bill if he'd wanted to. He wasn't sure they could stop him now. No journal had ever prepared him for any of this. 

A thought occurred to him. It worried him. It terrified him. It made him more anxious, made him feel small. In fact, it made him feel insignificant, and somehow that was worse than having all the blame. If there was no way Dipper could have stopped any of this from the very beginning, if he had absolutely no control over what had happened whatsoever . . . .

Did that really make this his fault?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I'm gonna banish myself to the woods once I'm done with this. Just to think about what I've done.
> 
> Almost done, kids. Almost done. I'm thinking the next chapter will be the longest. I promise you the last chapter will not be violent or gruesome. We see what happens Chapter 11.


	11. Undone

Dipper couldn't get the thought out of his head. Everything around him moved in that sickening slow motion as he sat and tried to think of what he could have done differently. What could he have changed? He kept finding fewer and fewer possible answers and feeling more and more lost in the search. When he finally reached a point where he couldn't think anymore, everything seemed frozen and staring at him. Mabel was sitting in a chair with cold-soaked cotton in her mouth. Wendy was unconscious with Soos, but still alive. He'd wrapped her hands and taped them the same way he'd done Dipper's torso. Grunkle Stan was looking at him, and it looked like he'd just asked a question or said something. “Huh?” was all Dipper could manage in response.

Instead of complaining about how Dipper wasn't listening, Grunkle Stan calmly stated, “You need to focus, son.” Dipper nodded slowly, trying to ignore all the parts of him that started hurting once he stepped outside of his own head again. Then Grunkle Stan repeated, “Once everyone's ready, we're going to banish him.”

Dipper didn't know how to respond at first. Was Grunkle Stan being serious? Was that even possible? “We can?” fell from Dipper's lips before he could think. “How?”

“Mabel and I got the living room set up while Soos took care of you. Now we just need to go in and,” he paused, as if looking for the proper words, “and get it done.”

Dipper started shaking again. “No,” he muttered. “This isn't possible. We can't possibly—”

“Can, have, will,” his great uncle interrupted. Dipper found it hard to listen to the words coming from his great uncle's mouth. His head was growing fuzzy and he was trying hard, very hard, to contemplate what it would be like going back to a life without Bill lingering in the shadows. His throat clenched. He wished he could remember what that was like. Then he squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. No. No, this couldn't be. He'd better be ready for when they failed and Bill came to reclaim— “Stop.” Dipper's eyes opened, and he realized he'd been shaking his head. Looking at his great uncle, he realized the man had placed a hand on his shoulder. Dipper actually didn't feel the need to flinch or pull away. Just as with Soos earlier, the feeling of being touched didn't scorch him. Not like it had whenever Bill had laid his hands on Dipper. No, this was . . . this was soothing. Comforting. Reassuring. Looking back at Grunkle Stan, the old man uttered, “Trust me. We are going to be okay.”

Whether it was because he believed him or because he was agreeing out of compulsion, Dipper didn't know. All he knew was that he was nodding when he heard a small, familiar voice croak out, “Dipper?” Grunkle Stan moved aside and Dipper could see Wendy starting to sit up. While Dipper had been terrified earlier to even look at her, now he ignored all threats and warnings to step over, drop to her side, and pull her into his arms. She let out an exhale that at first he thought was a pained one. He almost let her go, only for her to return the hold just as fiercely without applying pressure to her burned and aching hands. Her arms dug into the scratches that marred his flesh but that didn't deter him. For the first time in he couldn't recall how long, someone other than the demon was holding him and he was holding back. He didn't realize he was crying until she asked in a scratchy voice, “I'm not hurting you am I?”

He shook his head against her shoulder. “I don't care. Please don't let go.” Because if they failed to subdue Bill Cipher, this would be the last time he would get the chance to hold her. Before he knew he was speaking again, he was spewing out, “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. To all of you. I never thought,” he was choking on the words, “I never wanted this to happen.” The thought he'd had earlier seemed so irrelevant in the face of the damage Bill had done. The helplessness over not having had any control whatsoever managed to make Dipper feel worse than if he'd committed the acts himself.

Then there was Wendy, holding onto him and murmuring, “It's okay. It's not your fault.”

“I just wanted to protect you.” He was shaking more and more. He felt someone else coming to sit with him, and out of the corner of his eye saw Mabel. “I just wanted to protect all of you.”

“I know,” Mabel managed past the cotton in her mouth as she wrapped herself around Dipper's back. He didn't know how, but the crowding didn't frighten him. It didn't make him squirm and it didn't make him want to run. Somehow . . . he felt safe. He thought he'd never feel that again.

“Now let us protect you,” Wendy said. Dipper didn't argue. He held onto them and let them hold onto him for as long as he was able. When he'd finally stopped crying and the embraces finally got to his wounds, he was still reluctant to pull away. Even when he did, Mabel kept one hand on his arm and Wendy still sat close to him. He started to reach up and touch her hair, but then recalled the damage his own scalp had sustained and felt wary. When she saw him gesturing, she said, “That's all he did before we got here.” Dipper didn't know much about hair, but he knew enough to tell that Bill had basically taken a pair of sheers and cut what he felt like cutting. Wendy's hair was a mess, and her hands were burned and three fingernails short. Dipper was about to start crying again when Wendy added, “It's okay. It'll grow back.”

Dipper shook his head. “That's not—”

“Yo,” she stopped him, touching her bandaged hand to his cheek. Her gaze turned serious. “That wasn't what disturbed me the most about the whole encounter.” He didn't want to think about it. She'd been inside her own body while Bill was controlling her. While Dipper had been possessed before, he'd been in the mindscape. He hadn't had to watch and experience everything Bill was doing inside his body. He shook his head again, trying not to think of it. He was almost glad Wendy interrupted his thoughts to ask, “Mabel, can you get the scissors out of my pocket? They're starting to dig.”

Turning to look at his sister as she did what Wendy asked, he was about to say something when she said, “Shut up,” through the cotton. He listened. She blinked, pocketing the scissors and struggling to speak through the pain. “As far as dentist appointments go, that one wasn't the worst.”

“Dude, you're kidding right?” Soos asked, a hint of concern and slight terror in his voice. 

His eyes went wide when she shook her head. “Story for another time,” was her only clarification.

Soos cringed. “Now I'll never go.”

After a few more moments of rest and recovery, Grunkle Stan asked, “Ready to finish this?”

Dipper felt the anxiety returning, billowing up in his stomach and threatening to explode. Taking a deep breath, he nodded. He was afraid. They all knew he was afraid. He could tell by the way they held onto him, looked at him, as if he'd go running back to Bill at any second. Like the demon could find something else to compel him with. The thought almost froze him.

There was a blur in his memory between him being on the floor with Wendy, Mabel, and Soos and Grunkle Stan leading them all to the living room where sigils and signs had been scrawled on the walls and floors. The three largest were on the floor, the biggest in the center with two others on opposing sides of the room. Dipper stared at the marks, recognizing some but not others. He was afraid to step on them at first, but then he realized that no amount of shuffling was making them disappear. Mabel. Mabel had drawn these. She had a talent when it came to chalk. She could make chalk drawings last months if she wanted to.

Grunkle Stan directed Wendy, Dipper, and Mabel to the second largest circle, instructing them to stand in it. “Whatever happens, do not step outside of it,” he informed. Then he pulled the book he had been carrying with him out from under his arm and opened it. Pulling some loose pages he'd seemingly stuffed between two leaves, he handed them to Wendy. “This is a copy of what I'm reciting. If I'm unable to continue at any point in the ritual, keep going.”

Wendy squinted at the sheets. “I can't read Latin.”

“I can,” Dipper muttered.

They looked at him, and he could understand the shocked expressions they were giving him. He understood them well. They didn't think he could pull it off if he really had to. Honestly, he wasn't so sure he could either. “Are you ready for that?” his great uncle asked.

Dipper bit his tongue for a moment, hesitating. Then he steeled his jaw. If they failed, he was doomed. If they succeeded . . . he couldn't. He couldn't think of that. It felt scarier thinking about what would happen if they succeeded. He wasn't sure what the future would hold. He wasn't sure how he was going to make do. With failure, he knew exactly what would come to pass. Those thoughts were not pleasant. They were far from pleasant, but he knew what would happen nonetheless. He would never see any of them again, and he would belong to the demon for as long as Bill saw fit to keep him alive. In the back of his mind, something took hold and he knew his answer. No matter his participation, failure would result in the same ending. It was almost always better to go with the scarier option.

Dipper nodded. “I am.” He was shaking as Wendy handed him the papers. He clutched them in his hands, staring dumbly at the words. Judging by the number of pages, it wasn't going to be a short ritual, but he could easily read the writing. He could. He swore he could. Letting out a shaky breath, he said with a little more certainty, “I can do it.” He grit his teeth to keep from reneging on his own declaration, because no matter how sure he was his insides were screaming for him not to do it.

Grunkle Stan was silent for what seemed a long while. Then he nodded curtly. “He's gonna throw everything he's got at us, kid,” he warned.

“Can he touch us?” Mabel asked, voice still muffled by cotton.

“Not while you're in these circles,” Grunkle Stan answered, pointing to the one designated to them and the other where he and Soos were to go.

Dipper closed his eyes, looking up and away from the words before him. “He can only do so much more to me,” he mumbled. 

“Still,” his great uncle said as he and Soos turned toward their side of the room. “Be careful. And let me lead. I might be able to do this without having you read at all.” If there was doubt in Grunkle Stan's voice, he quickly concealed it.

Dipper nodded one more time before they all took their positions. With a deep breath, Grunkle Stan stared at the page and began reading. “Triangulum entangulum veneforis dominus ventium . . .,” the chant continued until Grunkle Stan's words started to reverberate and the room looked like it was starting to bend. Dipper felt himself start to shrink as the all too familiar presence of the demon began to permeate throughout the room. Without realizing it, his breathing became labored and soon he was hyperventilating. Covering his mouth and nose with his sleeve, he clutched the papers to his chest as light began bleeding out of the trap Grunkle Stan and Mabel had laid in the center of the room. Mabel and Wendy moved to stand between him and the light, and he almost panicked. Inside the circle, he thought. As long as they were inside the circle, they would be fine. He would be fine. Now he just had to keep himself together.

But hearing Bill's laugh echo throughout the room almost made him drop the papers. Sweat collected in his palms and on his temples as he heard a collective gasp at what appeared before them. He had forgotten. Dipper had forgotten the others hadn't seen the form Bill had taken to using against him. Bill Cipher would have been unrecognizable to them if not for the eye and top hat. Even Grunkle Stan's eyes were wide at the sight of the gigantic, long limbed, four-armed monster.

Bill spun into existence, guffawing at the summon. Meanwhile Dipper cowered and squeezed his eyes shut. He felt weak. He felt wrong. He felt guilty for hiding behind the two people he'd thrown himself at Bill's feet for. At the same time, he was too scared to meet Bill's gaze for the demon was surely going to be looking at him. He almost collapsed when Bill started speaking, a whimper escaping his throat almost instinctively. “Well well, Stanford. Long time no see.” Grunkle Stan ignored the demon's words and immediately started reading off the words on the pages he'd given Dipper. Dipper opened his eyes slowly, keeping his head down as he pulled the pages away from his chest and tried to follow along. His gaze quickly averted from the pages when out of the corner of his eye he saw the demon turning about the room, looking at all the work Mabel and Grunkle Stan had done. He shouldn't have looked up, because as soon as he did the demon focused solely on him. And laughed. Why was he laughing? Shouldn't he be scared? Shouldn't he be focused on the fact that Dipper's great uncle was trying to banish him? “This again? Oh my, what a bore.” The laugh only grew louder and more sinister, and Dipper's guts twisted and tightened and made it almost impossible for him to stand up straight. He wanted to curl up and cover his ears, but his hands were glued to the pages and his ears were assaulted with the demon's words. “It's cute how the four of you think you can keep me from him. Really. Adorable.” Dipper squeezed his eyes shut again, trying to listen to Grunkle Stan's recitations and not Bill. He didn't look at the others. If he saw that they felt just as hopeless as he did he would give up sooner than he'd promised. “Hey Red,” he said to Wendy, “did you enjoy our little joy ride?”

“Go to hell!” she spat. Dipper admired how enraged she could be in the face of the demon who could have easily destroyed her. Knowing Wendy, the venom was just covering her fears. Don't think about it, Dipper, he tried to reassure himself. Have faith in the others. You'll get through this.

“I used to like you, Toots. Then you touched what is mine.” Bill's smile faded as Grunkle Stan's word droned on. “Give him back,” his voice dropped several octaves and echoed throughout the room and Dipper was seconds away from doubling over. The only reason he didn't was because he saw Mabel clasp one of Wendy's bandaged hands in front of him, creating a more visible barrier between Dipper and Bill. This only succeeded in making the demon's eye go black and his skin glow red. “I said give him _back_!” Bill stepped closer and two of the demon's hands flew forward. Wendy and Mabel turned and grabbed Dipper, pulling him between them in a tight embrace that forced the air that had been trapped in his lungs out. Dipper couldn't close his eyes. He couldn't look away. He watched as the demon's steps ground to a halt at the edge of the center circle and his clawed hands were deflected by an unseen barrier that only made itself known when he came in contact with it. He yanked his hands back growling, clutching them as thought they'd been electrocuted. He turned to glare at Grunkle Stan, whose breath had stuttered momentarily as the demon had tried to attack but he'd continued reading anyway. “Taken all the extra precautions, haven't you Stanford?” he snarled through sharp fangs. He turned back to Dipper and his smile rekindled. Dipper shuddered involuntarily as the girls still had their arms around him guardedly. “Did you think about this though?”

The demon's fingers snapped, a blue flame flickering and disappearing. Suddenly, Dipper's body was moving of its own volition. He was stepping toward the edge of the circle, moving into Bill's reach. “No!” he screamed, unable to stop. What was happening? Why couldn't he control himself? Anxiety rose up and choked him as he dropped the pages and Mabel and Wendy struggled to hold him back. 

Their arms tightened around him, digging into the marks and making him cry out. “Dipper, stop!” Mabel shouted over another of Bill's laughs.

“I can't!” he responded. “I'm trying!” Electricity shot across his skin, shorting out all of his nerves. “No, stop!” he yelled at himself, but to no avail. He was reduced from pleas of mercy to dreadful cries in seconds. Sweat poured from his temples as Grunkle Stan stopped reciting, a panicked look crossing his face as he turned and looked to Soos. Soos looked just as frightened, wanting to run across the room to Dipper but wary of the demon in the middle.

Wendy and Mabel used all of their strength to push Dipper back, but his legs wouldn't stop. They kept wanting to propel him forward. Even his arms were starting to put up a fight without his permission. He ground his teeth, closing his eyes and trying harder to fight it. “Don't make this hurt more, kid,” Bill's voice echoed. Suddenly Dipper's insides started boiling the more he struggled and he let out an agonizing shout. “Remember to whom you belong, Pine tree.” Dipper struggled, trying to think of what was making him do this. He had never endured this before. What could Bill have possibly done to him to take such control over his body?

Something clicked with him somehow. His side. Bill had written (carved) something in his cipher on Dipper's side. If Dipper had to guess, he'd written his name. He'd thought it was just a territorial thing, something he'd done to remind Dipper that he was property. No, it had to be that. If it wasn't the markings on his side, Dipper had no idea what else it could be. 

In the middle of the pain, he had an idea. He could hardly speak to get it out. Looking desperately across the room to Soos, who stared at him wide-eyed, Dipper shouted, “Symbols!” That was all he could do before he started losing his composure and pushing harder against Wendy and Mabel.

Soos took the hint immediately. “Dipper has symbols on his right side!” he called to Wendy and Mabel. “Break them!”

“No!” Bill shouted, glowing redder as he turned around to face Soos. “You stupid _Question mark_!”

Meanwhile, Wendy looped her arms under Dipper's and locked them behind his back. He was still struggling to go forward, but Wendy was still stronger than him. While she was holding him back, Mabel shoved his jacket aside and pushed up his shirt. Pulling out the scissors she'd taken from Wendy, she started cutting away the bandages Soos had put in place. Dipper closed his eyes and fought to keep still, whimpering and whining at the burning sensation that arose in his stomach from disobeying Bill. He refused to look at Mabel's face as she cut through the bandages and saw what Bill had done to him. She stopped cutting just above two of the symbols and started with, “What do I—?”

“Cut it!” Dipper spit out through his teeth. His eyes opened momentarily, and he could see the horror in his sister's face.

“No!” she cried.

He screamed as the boiling intensified, Wendy commanding over his shoulder, “Do it, Mabel!” He squeezed his eyes shut again and his head started nodding, rocking back and forth in an attempt to show that it was okay. He would be okay. He had to be okay with this.

“Don't you dare, Shooting star! Don't you dare—”

Something sharp dug into his side and Dipper screamed over Bill's warning. The object dragged across the already throbbing and sore mark and, as soon as the cipher was broken, Dipper collapsed and boiling stopped. Wendy let him down gently as he struggled to breathe properly again, sweat pouring freely over his body as he shook. As the pressure dissipated and he was released from the impulse to go to Bill, Mabel dropped the scissors on the floor and cupped his face, pressing her forehead to his. “I'm sorry,” she sobbed out over and over again as Grunkle Stan continued reading across the room.

Wendy tucked his shirt back down and gathered up the papers as he uttered quietly, “It's okay,” as many times as it took her to stop saying she was sorry. He trembled, but it certainly wasn't because she'd had to hurt him to save him. No, he trembled because of the weight of Bill's stare. 

His side ached now more than anything else, and his sweat turned his skin cold and clammy as Bill spat, “You little brat, what till I get my hands on you. On _all_ of you,” he snarled as he made a sweeping motion with his left hands. As he did, the air in the room started to churn and suddenly it felt like they were inside a whirlwind. Wind whipped at them, almost blowing the pages out of Wendy's hands as she handed them back to Dipper. He returned to clutching them to his chest as Grunkle Stan continued reading, voice shaking as he gripped the book tightly. The three braced against one another as Soos and Grunkle Stan leaned into the wind, feet planted firmly on the ground no matter how hard it blew. Moments passed as the winds reached their peak and Mabel, Wendy, and Dipper stayed on the floor, holding onto one another. Grunkle Stan's recitations didn't start showing their effects until the sigils on the walls and floor started to glow. Their light was dim and unnoticeable at first, but then it steadily grew stronger, crawling towards Bill. Bill still didn't look concerned. No, he still looked angry just to have been outsmarted by Soos and Dipper. Dipper expected him to act out again, but instead he calmed. The red faded from his skin and his eye returned to normal. He turned to Grunkle Stan and crooned, “Stanford.” Stan ignored Bill, managing to continue reading until the demon added, “He has your hair.” Stan's voice faltered as Bill rubbed his fingers together, as if remembering the texture of Dipper's (and Grunkle Stan's) locks. That's when Bill's words sank in with Dipper and a pit formed in his stomach. He watched as his great uncle's eyes went wide and he started stumbling over the words. His jaw clenched for a moment before he went back to reading, pushing Bill's words out of his head. But Bill didn't stop there. “Are you still afraid of heights, Stanford? I tried _really_ hard to break you of that fear.”

Dipper could see Soos mouthing to Grunkle Stan, “Don't listen to him, Mr. Pines.” Still, Stan's voice became shaky, the Latin sounding less like a language and more like gibberish as his voice began cracking.

“Still got that burn mark I gave you all those years ago? Remember how I made you scream?” Bill snapped his fingers and suddenly a howl ripped through the room, piercing the sound of the winds. It didn't sound like Grunkle Stan. No, not as he was now. It sounded so much younger, yet Dipper knew intrinsically that that was the voice of his great uncle Bill was playing for them. 

The sound made him sick, and it clearly made the others sick. Especially his uncle, who was doubled over the book and trying to continue reading but failing as his mouth hung open and no words came out. “Mr. Pines!” Soos cried as Dipper watched his uncle go to his knees and start hyperventilating just as Dipper had done mere minutes ago. As soon as Soos touched the man's forearms, though, Grunkle Stan shook his head and, bent over the book, started growling out the lines with more aggression than before.

Bill laughed. “As a matter of fact, you and your nephew sound so similar.” Dipper's eyes went wide, bracing himself as Bill snapped his fingers again and suddenly it wasn't his uncle's screams penetrating the air but his. It was his. “Of course, your nephew required some more brutal punishments than you ever did. His hardheadedness is triple times worse than yours!” Dipper couldn't have prepared to hear his own vocalizations played back to him if he'd tried. Mabel and Wendy held onto him tighter as he let out a loud whine, shutting his eyes and trying desperately not to remember what Bill had done to incur each and every one of the sounds they were listening to. It was utterly impossible. The more he heard his own voice, the more he remembered what had been done to him to bring out those sounds. His agony of his wounds flared up and still very present ache inside of him made itself known and tears came to his eyes as he relived everything the demon had done to him in mere seconds. The only thing he heard above the screams was Bill laughing and declaring, “There's just _something_ about the Pines family, isn't there?”

Grunkle Stan had stopped chanting entirely, and through his eyelids Dipper could see the light of the sigils start to fade. Oh no. No, no. This couldn't happen. Dipper struggled to see through his tears, eyes bleary and throat still sore from vocalizing. Everything hurt all over again and somehow he'd wound up lying on the floor with Wendy and Mabel trying to get his attention. He couldn't hear them over the sounds Bill was producing. He couldn't hear them, he couldn't hear his own vocal cords, but he could see the lights fading. Do something, he shouted inwardly. Do something, read, continue the ritual. He was the only one that could.

Dipper shook, one hand holding the pages while the other pushed him off the ground. There was blood on the floor where he'd been lying. He turned away from it, sitting up enough to hold the pages. Fingers fumbled through the leaves as he looked for a passage he recognized, one he recalled Grunkle Stan reading and stopping at. The screams and winds Bill had unleashed began to intensify and Dipper rubbed angrily at his eyes as he tried to keep the tears from blinding him. He held the pages firmly as he searched, not allowing the gusts to obstruct his vision either. He didn't look at anyone. He stared only at the pages, desperately searching for something, anything he recognized.

Then he found it. With quivering lips, he picked up where Grunkle Stan had left off.

The screaming stopped and he could just see Bill turning to glare, but he didn't look up. He continued, taking advantage of the lowered amount of stimuli. He could have cried more from relief over not hearing his own outcries, but he recited. He read until the light of the sigils began to strengthen again and draw nearer to the demon. It was working. He was doing it, and it was working.

The knot in his stomach threatened to silence him when Bill struck the invisible barrier again. Dipper faltered, eyes going wide as he expected more pain. He can't touch you hear, he repeated to himself over and over. He continued reading, thinking those words as he went on and trying to convince himself that Bill wasn't somehow going to reach through the protective circle and pull him away from Wendy and Mabel. Bill struck the barrier again and Dipper shut his eyes for a moment, gathering himself enough to finish what he'd been reciting before opening his eyes again and continuing. The next time Bill struck out, he hit the force-field so hard it created sparks and Dipper, Mabel, and Wendy all curled up instinctively. He can't touch you hear, Dipper fought to remind himself. But his lips wouldn't move again. He can't touch you hear, but the pit in his stomach was starting to grow and he couldn't—

“Keep reading,” Wendy said directly into his ear. He jumped, unsure of when she'd gotten that close again. Before he could stop himself he was looking up, and he automatically knew he should have kept his eyes cast down like he'd planned.

Bill had stretched as far as the circle had allowed him to glare down at Dipper and all Dipper could think was that the demon was going to kill him. “Say another word and so help me, you will never sleep again.” Dipper's throat closed and he felt himself shrinking under the gaze. He couldn't breathe. He shook and he stared, but he couldn't breathe. He couldn't speak. Bill's voice reverberated, moving right through him. “You think you can just banish me?” Another voice started speaking in the background and the light of the signs intensified, but Bill's focus was wholly on him and he couldn't look away. He couldn't move and he couldn't look away as the demon snarled, “I will never let you go. For as long as you're alive, I will be looking for the right opportunity to find you again. When I do, I'll take you and your whole family with me. No Pines will be safe from me!” Something in Dipper snapped. Whether it was that his previous mantra had finally settled in or the threat to his family or a combination of both, something inside Dipper broke and he was suddenly very, very angry. His eyes narrowed and his jaw set and his breathing was suddenly even. The feeling flooded his chest and suddenly he couldn't feel anything else but the dawning realization of what Bill was saying. Yes, the demon had caused him a lot of pain. Yes, he would remember it for years to come. Yes, there were more things he was uncertain of than there were things he was certain of. But come hell or high water, Dipper would not allow him to do this to him again. Bill Cipher was not going to make him cower and give in to his manipulation again. Meanwhile, the demon's rage only intensified in response to the change in Dipper. “You better wipe that defiant look off your face before I do, Pine tree!”

Dipper glanced across the room to Grunkle Stan, who was mumbling into his book while still on his knees. There were tears in his eyes, and Dipper couldn't remember a single moment in his life where Grunkle Stan had ever cried. Somehow the feeling in his chest grew worse and the sight of his uncle angered him more. Bill had done this to them. Bill had done all of this to them.

The number of injuries the demon had caused started growing in Dipper's mind and that was what got him reciting again alongside his great uncle. Dipper barely flinched when Bill screamed and slammed all four fists against the circle, the light of the signs finally reaching the circle in which the demon was trapped. As soon as it did, the floor appeared to open and more light poured into the room as it started to swallow Bill. Bill dropped, torso and head hitting the floor as something unseen started to drag him into the light. Everyone cringed as the demon's claws dug into the floor, the sound of talons scraping grating on their eardrums as the winds continued whipping at them.

“Don't stop!” Mabel cried from beside Dipper. He didn't. He kept reading, watching as the demon was dragged away from him.

The demon tried pulling himself out of the light, but failed. His voice echoed and snarled, “I'll be back, Pine tree! It might be tomorrow! It might be next year! It might even be fifty years from now, but I'll be back!”

Dipper finished up the recitation in time to hear someone, Grunkle Stan, shouting in response, “By the time you get back, I'll have finally figured out how to kill you!”

Bill's enraged shout rang out as the light finally consumed him. There was another flash where they couldn't see anything, and the last image burned into their minds was the shape of a triangle. Bill's original form was all they saw before there was a crack like lightning and suddenly everything fell flat.

The wind stopped. The light was gone. There was a large scorch mark in the middle of the floor with smoke rising off of it, but other than that there was no sign that there had been a struggle.

Dipper let out an exhale, dropping the pages on floor before collapsing. Unbeknownst to him, he'd something managed to land on one of the girls' laps. Closing his eyes and steadying his breathing, he felt lighter than he had in weeks. He didn't know how to describe it any other way. It felt like he was finally able to put down a giant sack he'd been dragging behind him for days on end. The sick feeling in his stomach wasn't gone. The rage in his chest left aches in places that hadn't hurt before. The injuries were just as staggering. Everything was the same, but he wasn't quite so heavy. After monitoring his movements for so long, he'd forgotten what it was like to breathe without asking permission.

As his family collected in the aftermath of the ritual, he felt it. He felt it in his bones. Bill was gone. The demon was actually gone. They'd succeeded in banishing him. He knew the hardest, scariest parts for him had yet to come, but for the moment he was content to become reacquainted with breathing freely.


	12. Ghost

Grunkle Stan, Soos, Dipper, Mabel, and Wendy would all be lying if they said they weren't tired after the banishment, but they would all be damned if they were caught going to sleep after the threats Bill had tossed around. As soon as they were strong enough to, they decided to stumble their way out to Grunkle Stan's car and Soos's truck and drove out to the hospital. The first steps they took outside, they expected to be assaulted. Mabel held onto Dipper's arm, fearing momentarily that their work had not in fact paid off and there would be Bill, waiting to collect his retribution. The longer they were out, the more they realized he wasn't coming for them and the less they shivered. At least, the others stopped shivering. Dipper still wasn't able to keep still.

As they pulled in, Soos told them he had a cousin (not cousin Reggie) who worked night shifts and would gladly see them. Grunkle Stan asked how likely it was for the cousin to believe they'd suffered a demonic attack and Soos had had to look away. Therefore, Grunkle Stan declared that their story would be that they'd suffered an attack from a wild animal.

“They're not gonna believe that,” Dipper protested. They were about to argue when they realized he was right. What wild animal could have pulled Mabel's teeth, burned and pulled nails from Wendy's hands, and ripped Dipper to shreds. Dipper sighed, looking down as they stopped outside the hospital doors. “No one's going to believe anything I say,” he muttered. “You guys should—”

“No,” Wendy said forcefully. Dipper was taken aback. “I know what you're going to say, and the answer is no.”

“You don't have to get treated for,” Mabel stopped, fresher cotton balls still muffling her speech as she dropped off the rest of the sentence. He appreciated that she didn't say it aloud, though they all knew what she was talking about. She picked back up with, “That's entirely up to you. But everything else—”

“You can't go without seeing a doctor, Dipper,” Grunkle Stan declared. He and Soos had sustained no injuries, but Grunkle Stan was still shaking. His voice even quivered if anyone really listened to it. “You've lost a lot of blood, and if anything got infected—”

“Okay okay.” Dipper held up his hands, both of which were shaking. He felt his guts tighten and his anxiety building up as they entered the hospital. He wasn't ready to talk. He wasn't even ready to lie about how he'd received the wounds. It had been difficult letting Soos see them. The man hadn't said anything, but his expression alone had been too hard for Dipper to meet.

Wendy and Mabel were seen first and treated quickly, each coming up with their own reasons for coming in. Apparently there was only so much the hospital could do for pulled teeth. Mabel was already loving the pain medicine, and Wendy was at the very least reassured that eventually her fingernails would grow back. Bill hadn't ripped them entirely out, it seemed. With her hands dressed and Mabel high on meds, they waited for Dipper to be seen. He fidgeted, sitting between Grunkle Stan and Wendy and trying not to let on just how nervous he was. He knew they were right and he needed to be treated, but damn if it wasn't the most horrifying thing to imagine a complete strange seeing his body and trying to piece together what had been done to him. He closed his eyes against the thoughts that ensued. It was hard enough knowing that eventually his family was going to see. What little Mabel had glimpsed had made her burst into tears earlier.

He jolted when he felt someone drape an arm over his shoulders, relaxing when he realized it was Wendy. She asked, “Do you need me to stop touching you?” He shook his head, instead choosing to lean into her side. With his head on her shoulder, he let out a long sigh and tried to stop quivering at the thought of seeing the doctor. “Do you want one or all of us to go with you?” He thought about it for a moment, realizing what that would entail. He was tempted to say Soos should come with him, as he'd already seen Dipper, but he didn't . . . he didn't want him there for . . . .

Dipper sighed. “I don't know.” He still wasn't ready for anyone else to see him. “I think I can go it alone.”

“You're sure?” Wendy asked.

“Dipper Pines?” called a nurse.

Dipper sighed again and sat up before standing. “I'll be fine.” He said it, but he wasn't sure he was speaking to the others or himself.

Going through the motions of check-in had been easy. Getting undressed just to put on a flimsy gown had not. He had had to purse his lips and contain his moans of agony as he removed Soos's handiwork piece by piece. He sat crookedly on the bed, feeling exposed and foreign in the sterile setting. On the bright side, there were no dark spots in the room to torment him. He didn't feel an invisible hand caressing his hair. He was alone. Completely alone. That should have made him more comfortable, but instead he thought he might start crying again for the hundredth time in twenty-four hours. He couldn't wait to not feel compelled to sob at any given second of the day.

He heard voices outside and the door cracked open. He expected it to be the doctor, but instead Mabel poked her head in and said, “Good. Right room.”

“Mabel, get out,” was his first reaction. Of all the people, she was the one he most definitely did not want to have to see all of what Bill had done. “I said I'd be fine.”

“I changed my mind and decided not to listen to you.” Her voice sounded strange, like the medicine she was on had more of an influence on her than she was letting on.

“I can do this on my own. I swear,” he said, trying to convince her to leave.

Still she staggered over to his side, patting his cheek as she said, “You're a truther, Dip.”

“A what?”

“A truther. As opposed to a liar. You're not cut out to make something up on the fly for the doctor to believe, so I'm here to help you.”

“Mabel, you hate lying.”

“But sometimes, we must lie.” She placed a finger over his lips and went, “Shush. I reject your reality and substitute it with my own.”

It struck him how very Mabel that familiar phrase was, and for the first time in about a month he smiled. Pulling his sister into a soft hug, he felt warmth spreading through him. “Thank you,” he whispered.

She hugged him back, and he was once again both relieved and shocked that the contact didn't burn his skin. If nothing else, he craved the contact. He needed to feel the touch of someone who didn't mean him harm. Mabel and the others in the waiting room could give him that.

Then Mabel muttered, “You're my little bro bro. I should've been there from the very beginning.”

He was about to respond to that when the door opened again and a nurse came in. “What seems to be the problem today, kids?”

Dipper didn't like the way he talked, his mouth clamping shut almost immediately. Mabel answered for him, doing just as she said she would and coming up with a story on the fly. “His ex assaulted him today.”

The doctor said nothing. In fact . . . was he snorting at the idea. The sound was too soft for Dipper to tell. When he turned around, he was covering his mouth briefly before making a serious face. No, Dipper didn't like him at all. Setting the laptop and clipboard he'd been carrying down, the doctor had one hand on a stethoscope and the other reaching for Dipper's shoulder. As soon as the doctor touched his shoulder, the one that bore the bite mark, he flinched and pulled away. “Take it easy. Just need to check your heartbeat and ask some questions for the doctor. This won't hurt a bit,” the doctor said a little more gently as he came between Dipper and his twin. Dipper looked to Mabel frantically, feeling the panic return to his chest as the nurse fumbled with his gown. She tried to give him a reassuring look, but it soon dissolved. The nurse let out a startled gasp and said, “Jesus, man.” Dipper squeezed his eyes shut knowing damn well the man was staring at his scratches. “You said your ex assaulted you?” Dipper hesitated before nodding curtly. He knew that was a mistake a soon as the nurse said, “Good God, what did you do?”

“Get out,” Mabel spat faster than Dipper could react.

The nurse stepped back, baffled. “I still need to—”

“Get. Out. Send someone else in.”

“I don't—”

“Look, I have a girlfriend who can sue you into next week. You don't get to talk to my brother that way. He didn't do anything to deserve this. Get out, and learn some bedside manners before you step into another room.” The nurse's mouth hung open for a minute. Then he collected his materials and left, Mabel coming to stand next to Dipper again. He'd started shaking again, exhaling audibly as she hissed out, “Asshole.”

He was quiet for a few seconds, then he uttered, “I'm glad you changed your mind.” Because Dipper wasn't positive he could have handled that nurse's comment so well without her.

“Me too,” she said, as if knowing what he was thinking. Knowing Mabel, she probably did.

When the next nurse came in, Mabel stood resolutely by Dipper and refused to be moved. This nurse spoke calmly, asking Dipper, “Assault, right?” Dipper nodded slowly, gulping. “Where are you hurt?”

Dipper froze. How did he answer that? He wasn't ready to answer something like that? Mabel spoke up for him again, then, saying, “His ex took a knife to his back and chest.”

He could clearly see the nurse's expression soften before she asked, “Is that all?”

Mabel looked to Dipper this time, leaving it up to him to answer. His eyes were wide and his entire being was unsteady all over again. Breathing shakily, he shook his head. “He,” he choked, lips shutting tightly against the words he needed to say. He closed his eyes, trying to force the words out. But he couldn't.

Fortunately, the nurse understood what he couldn't say. “It's okay,” she said soothingly. “No need to push yourself.” Moving away from the subject, she then asked, “May I check your heart rate?” He nodded, opening his eyes as she moved to his other side and didn't make Mabel move. Mabel then gave him the reassuring smile she'd attempted earlier, and it felt more genuine this time. He wasn't surprised in the slightest when the nurse pulled his gown aside and had to pause as she, too, glimpsed the cuts. He heard a sharp intake of breath, but she didn't say anything for a moment. When she finally spoke, she asked quietly, “Please tell me he's in prison.”

Again, Mabel answered for him. “Oh, we'll never see him again. He's long gone.”

The nurse nodded, saying nothing as she proceeded with the check-up. Reaching over, Dipper held out his hand and waited for Mabel to take it. When she did, he squeezed it.

He didn't let go of it through the whole process.

 

When the doctor declared they wanted to keep Dipper for overnight observation after they'd stitched up the majority of the wounds, Wendy and Mabel chose to stay with him at the hospital that night. The staff had no qualms about Mabel staying as she was his sister, but they decided to declare Wendy as Dipper's girlfriend in order for her to remain.

Wendy could tell Dipper was glad to have the company because he very clearly did not want to go to sleep or be left alone in a dark hospital room. While topics were hard to choose, they did not run out of things to do.

“Grunkle Stan wants to know if you want him to wash the clothes we found,” Mabel asked Dipper quietly, flipping through the text messages on her phone. It was still somewhat astounding that Mr. Pines knew how to text.

Dipper cringed at the mention of the clothes and Wendy wanted to comfort him. However, she made no move when he declared, “Burn them.” Mabel gave him an odd look. “They could be clean and looking brand spanking new. I will never wear them again.” Wendy didn't blame him. Not in the slightest. Mabel started texting his response to Stan when he added, “Burn my mattress, too.”

She texted dutifully. When the message was sent, she found a pair of scissors in the room and went to town on sculpting a more attractive hairstyle out of Wendy's disheveled hair. Wendy sat still, watching her hair start to collect at her feet and trying not to remember the last time this had happened. Those clumps had been much larger and the pulling had been so much more violent. To distract herself, she sought to distract Dipper. “Dude, we totally have extra mattresses at our place if you want one.”

“Why?” he asked, shifting uncomfortably on the hospital bed. He looked as awkward as she felt. Given how many logging accidents she'd seen (a couple she'd been in), she knew how uncomfortable stitches were. What once was open and vulnerable was now making his skin too tight on his own body, so it was difficult lying still. She knew this because he had to shift often in order to remain comfortable on the already awful bed.

“I have brothers. They all grew up at once, so we had to find replacement mattresses for them at the same time.”

“You can also sleep in my bed if you need to,” Mabel offered. “Also Pacifica offered to chip in if need be. She's sorry she couldn't be of much help to us in the end.”

“It's okay,” Dipper said.

“Yeah, I . . . kinda blew up her car,” Wendy grumbled unhappily.

“No you didn't,” Mabel corrected. “This is a blame free zone. Nobody here is at fault for anything.” Her hand made a sweeping gesture, and honestly given how big her pupils were they suspected that she was seeing rainbows. Wendy and Dipper chuckled at her. After a few moments, Mabel's phone buzzed. She stopped to answer it, then walked over to Dipper to show him a picture. “Satisfied?”

Dipper squinted. “How'd he get it downstairs and outside so fast?”

When Mabel showed Wendy the picture of the burning clothes and mattress in the front yard, she said, “My guess is the window. He's tackling the living room next.”

“I hope you told him how to get your chalk up,” Dipper commented.

“I did,” she reassured. A few more minutes later, she threw her hands up in the air and cried, “Voila!” 

Wendy got up to go look in the mirror at what Mabel had done to her hair. When she glimpsed her new cut, she was conflicted. She missed her long hair, but what Mabel had pulled off with the remnants . . . it actually looked good. It looked really good. Brushing a strand back carefully with her bandaged hand, she found herself smiling. “Thank you.”

“You're welcome,” Mabel said cheerily.

It took about an hour for the drugs to really take hold of Mabel. When they did, she collapsed on the cot provided for her. Wendy and Dipper were not so keen to close their eyes. Wendy sat on the edge of the bed with Dipper, staying up with him despite how bone tired she was. “You can go to sleep, you know,” Dipper said. “I won't mind.”

Wendy shook her head. “I can't.” She still felt the remnants of the demon crowding her soul as she had remained trapped and unable to control or stop anything he did. She felt cold at the thought, and her hands felt so hot from the burns. The tips of her most injured fingers ached so much she wasn't sure how she was ever going to write or feel normally in that hand again.

Dipper shifted around beside her, sitting up enough to rest his forehead on her shoulder. He laid a hand gently on one of hers, pulling her out of her thoughts. She covered his hand with her other, closing her eyes and allowing her head to rest against his. “You didn't have to fight for me.”

She sighed at the comment. “You didn't have to fight for me either.”

There was a long pause before he spoke again. “Just so you know, I really wanted to sit around and watch movies with you again.”

Her small smile grew wider. “I know, you dork.”

Their grins faded as Dipper also exhaled noticeably. “I'm so tired, but,” he pressed against her side tighter, “I'm afraid.”

She couldn't imagine. From what she'd gleaned of Mabel's and Stan's reactions, almost all of what Dipper had endured had likely been while he was asleep. That was why it had taken them so long to realize just what was going on. If she were him, she wouldn't close her eyes at all. And no matter how often he was told that Bill was gone, he was going to dream. He was going to be plagued with nightmares. No amount of reassurance could stop that.

She figured now was as good a time as ever to offer. “I've heard it helps if you sleep beside someone you trust. Like that keeps the nightmares at bay.”

Dipper nodded. “I heard that too.”

“So if you trust me,” he looked up at her as she spoke, “I'm willing.” He looked unsure, and she instinctively ran a hand over her head and looked down. “I mean, I know I have to go back to college again. But for now, at least. I can—”

She was cut off by Dipper hugging her around her middle. She returned the hug almost immediately, holding him carefully so as not to hurt him. “I won't sleep,” he mumbled, “but I'd love it if you stayed with me.” With that, they wound up lying in the tiny hospital bed together. At first she was apprehensive strictly because of his she was afraid of him popping his stitches. He responded the same way he'd done earlier, before the banishment: he said he didn't care. With their foreheads touching and arms tangled around one another, Wendy felt her heart leap at how close she was to him. It occurred to her that she should pull away, give him more time to heal before even thinking of starting something that was more than a friendship with him. She started to feel guilty. As if sensing her internal struggle, Dipper muttered, “I don't mean to be so clingy.” She was about to formulate a response when he explained, “You being here just reminds me . . . that I'm real. That I'm here and not actually with him.”

Wendy's brow furrowed. “You . . . you think you're with him? Like he's taken you?”

Dipper's eyes started to water and he quickly wiped them away. “It occurred to me that this could be the dream. In reality . . . he's doing whatever he wants with me. To me.”

Wendy felt horrified at the idea, shaking her head and declaring, “He wouldn't let me near you, even in a dream.”

Dipper sighed. “Yeah, I know.” His drew closer to her. “That's why I like being close to you. It reminds me.”

Wendy wanted to touch his hair, but recalled how Bill had dragged him by it while in her body. Instead, she settled for touching his cheek. Her curiosity took hold, and no amount of self-control was holding her back from asking what she'd wanted to ask when she'd seen him earlier. Only then did it really hit her just how much had happened in a single day.

Shirking that revelation, she asked, “Can I ask you something awkward?” Dipper stiffened, looking at her hesitantly before nodding. “Did you ever really get over your crush on me?”

A blush set in his cheeks and he started to stutter. After a moment of quiet deliberation, he answered, “No.”

He looked away sheepishly and she smiled. “Tell you what,” she began. “When you're ready, gimme a call. We'll go on a totally awesome first date where we tell terrible jokes and say stupid stuff to try and keep each other's attention.”

If she thought he was flushed before, he was full on red now. “Can I . . . can I just call you when I'm . . . I don't know. Having a bad day too?”

“Duh.” Before she could stop herself, she planted a kiss on his forehead. His eyes went wide, and for a moment she thought she'd overstepped her bounds. Then his smile widened and he leaned in again and, in one fluid movement, their lips met. Her eyes slid closed and she pressed into the kiss harder. 

Then he gasped against her lips and his whole body froze. “I'm sorry,” he sputtered, eyes wild and chest heaving.

He started shivering, and she tried pulling his hands between them to hold them. It didn't have the intended effect, as the motion both made her hands burn and ache and he was still shaking. “Dipper, it's okay.” That did nothing to help. “Dipper, listen to me. I asked you. I kissed you. I'm sorry.” He shook his head, and it was almost like he couldn't hear her at all. Pulling him into a hug, his body grew stiff beside hers momentarily before he melted against her. She wrapped her arms around him carefully, whispering that it was okay, he was going to be okay. She felt sick with herself. She should have known better. She shouldn't have said anything about it. Not yet. Now he probably saw her as another predator to be concerned over. “I'm the one who should be sorry, Dip.”

He shook his head against her, and she could just make out the muffled, “Don't be.” That was all he said, but that wasn't all she heard. She heard in his voice that he believed he was the one at fault. He was the one who should apologize.

And telling him otherwise was more akin to talking to a brick wall than a receptive being. Letting out a shaky breath, she asked, “Do you want me to go?”

He shook his head again and managed to scoot closer. In some way, that was a comfort. Dipper was still comfortable with her, but she wanted him to be better. She despaired at the thought that she wasn't sure she knew how to make him better.

 

Nights after being released of Bill's possession, Dipper's nightmares manifested. It had taken so long for his family to convince him that he couldn't avoid sleep forever. The only way he'd been able to allow sleep to take him was while either Mabel or Wendy slept by his side. Mabel was a willing bed partner. Wendy was cautious at first, but eventually came to understand that he really didn't see her as a threat. He would much rather have her with him than wake up alone.

The nightmares came in the form of long shadows, towering over the bed and watching him sleep. On the good nights, that was all there was to it. He'd become aware of the shadow's presence and jolt awake only to find he was still alive, clinging to the person next to him for dear life. If they were awake, they'd tell him everything was okay. It was just a dream. If they weren't, he clung to them all the same and breathed against their skin that this was real and the shadow was not.

On the worse nights, the long shadow did more than watch. It reached out for him with searing fingers that threatened to burn his skin and he couldn't move to get away. His limbs would always feel weighted down by an unseen force and he was stuck shaking his head and begging for the shadow to stop. On those nights, he woke up screaming and sweating and usually with someone shaking him awake.

But as time progressed, it got easier. He picked up a routine again, one that was completely free of Bill. Despite the terrors he encountered in his sleep, he actually started to feel somewhat rested again. He wasn't dragging himself through the halls at school the way he had been doing. He was starting to feel . . . alive was the best way to put it. Picking up where he left off in school was difficult at first, but he managed. 

The first night he didn't have anyone by his side, Mabel having gone to visit Pacifica for the first time in a long while and Wendy back at college, he elected not to sleep at all. Going downstairs, he sipped a cup of Mabel juice (he'd taken a liking to it despite his reservations) and sat in the living room flipping through the television. He was almost to the point where he could stretch and his wounds would only sting for a moment from the movement. He still had a difficult time looking himself in the mirror, washing himself in the shower. He wished he could erase all that had happened in the bathroom the way he and Mabel tried to in their bedroom. While the mattress had been thrown out, he still cringed whenever he stepped too close to his former side of the room. When Mabel offered to move over their instead, he had actually almost gotten sick at the thought. They decided the only solution was to reorder the room, which had taken them a full day to plan out and accomplish.

Still, he wasn't ready to sleep on his own. Not yet. Changing channels repeatedly, he braced at the sound of someone approaching the living room only to relax again when he saw that it was Grunkle Stan. At first the old man said nothing, taking his usual seat and watching as Dipper struggled to settle on a channel. Then he asked, “Can't sleep?”

Dipper shook his head. “Don't wanna.”

Grunkle Stan nodded. Ever since the banishment, he had been rather distant. He still talked to them, but he avoided that subject altogether. On some level, Dipper wished he could avoid it too. It was a little harder for him to accomplish though, as he still bore the scars from it. The thought that his skin would never look the same again made him slump a little. It occurred to him he was never going to be able to take his shirt off again without raising questions. That meant swimming and gym and almost any summer in the future would become more awkward for him. He'd be that person with the t-shirt on while everyone else ran around half-naked. He should laugh at the ridiculousness of it, but he couldn't. He just felt . . . strange.

It didn't help when he had to explain to gym teachers that first day back why he wasn't going to be able to exercise for a good long while. At first the coach snorted, staring at the hospital letter. Instead of getting upset, as Dipper probably should have, he just kept his eyes down. Seriously, when the rules of the school stated that coaches and teachers had to adhere to hospital recommendations for students, it shouldn't be up for debate. But lo and behold, the coach asked, “Just how many stitches did you get?” as if it were some goddamn joke.

If Mabel had been there, she would have gone off on him the way she'd done the nurse. But he was alone here, and he felt the guilt coming on over the whole situation. It didn't help when just about everyone he had to inform about the event turned around and asked him what he'd done to himself. He had to condition himself to say in his mind that it wasn't his fault, that he'd done nothing to deserve it. That didn't work as often as he hoped. In fact, it made him feel worse because that meant he'd been nothing but a pawn. He'd literally been a toy and had had no say in his own life whatsoever, and yet people insisted on treating him as if he had brought this on himself.

After not being able to talk about what was going on for so long for fear of punishment, it was that thought that actually brought out the anger he felt deep in his chest. He glared as he went to shut the office door. The coach started to protest until Dipper dropped his backpack and lifted his shirt high enough to show off the worst of the damage done to his torso. The coach's facial expression should have made him feel sick and upset with himself, but instead it somehow managed to satisfy his frustration over everyone questioning what he'd been through. Dropping his shirt after doing a slow turn to show off the rest of the marks on his back, Dipper snapped, “Happy now?”

The coach's mouth opened and closed about five times before he sputtered, “A human being did that to you?”

Dipper didn't dignify that with an answer. He couldn't. By now the citizens of Gravity Falls should be plenty aware of the strange things that happened in their town, and Dipper Pines sure as hell didn't owe any of them an explanation. He just picked up his things and left. When he got out of the gym, he felt regret setting in as the anger receded and a blush crept onto his face and neck. Most of all, he felt disgusted with himself. The look on the coach's face now represented what everyone would look like if (when) they saw Dipper's body. When he told Mabel what happened, she was proud of him for standing up for himself. That helped a little, but not as much as he wished it had. He still felt . . . broken.

What did change his perspective was when Wendy came over one weekend and accidentally walked in on him dressing. He'd thought it were Mabel for a moment until he'd seen the flash of red hair out of the corner of his eye. He froze, eyes wide as they lost focus and there was a buzzing in his ears. He felt just as stuck as he had when he'd caught himself kissing her in the hospital bed, and he felt just as lost and mortified as he realized she was seeing his stitches and scars for the first time. He squeezed his eyes shut, unwilling to turn and address her and unable to move to further clothe himself. His sister still sobbed when she saw his torso. Soos and Grunkle Stan, the few times they'd seen, averted their eyes and let him be. Others . . . shrank. Grimaced. Scowled. Judged. He couldn't watch as he went from being Dipper Pines to being just a marred body in Wendy's eyes.

He was frozen until he heard footsteps nearing him and he felt arms around his waist. Wendy was quiet at first, resting her head on his shoulder as it began to register in his head that she wasn't repulsed. When she spoke, her words were soft. “There's nothing wrong with you.”

His chest started aching and he pursed his lips against the whimper that wanted to come out. Inhaling through the nose, he managed to say a flat as he could, “You don't have to—”

“Yes I do.” She let go, coming to stand in front of him. “You keep telling me I remind you you're here and you're real. Well, you're here,” she cupped his face forcing him to look her in the eye, “and you're real. And you're not something that can't be fixed.” The buzzing in his ears stopped and the ache inside grew to the point that his lips were trembling and his vision grew blurry from the water collecting in his eyes. “I'm not sure you even need to be fixed.”

It was after this that he pulled her into the tightest embrace he could have, ignoring the way his back, chest, and side protested. For once, her embrace wasn't careful either. No, she held him like he wasn't in fact marred or torn.

He didn't realize Grunkle Stan was watching him until his uncle caught him tugging the collar of his shirt up to cover the remainder of the bite mark, as if recalling he wasn't with Wendy and that not everyone was going to accept him as easily as she did. He started to constrict on himself, drawing his legs closer to his body when the old man said, “They'll fade. It'll just take time.”

Dipper sighed. “More time than I'd like.”

His uncle didn't argue with that. Instead he added, “You know what's a great coverup?” Dipper gave him a quizzical stare. “Tattoos.” 

Dipper found himself smiling at that for a moment. “That doesn't sound like too bad an idea, really.”

“Eh.” The old man squinted, thinking of something. “As long as you don't like words and all, it's a good plan. Nothing too detailed, though. The details get lost over time, and tend to warp from the marred flesh. Other than that, tattoos are great. Tell you what,” Grunkle Stan said, “In a year, if you're still uncomfortable with your body, I'll pay for your first one.”

“Cool,” Dipper said, finally settling on a channel and sticking with it. 

“Just don't pick out anything dumb, okay?”

Dipper smirked. Then he quickly got sidetracked by his own thoughts, mind venturing back to the nightmares and the reactions of those around him. He thought of Wendy's offer and grew flushed all over again at the thought of being with her. At the same time, it terrified him. As much as he wanted to, he couldn't see himself functioning in a normal romantic relationship. Not after what had happened. Hugs and kisses on the cheek or forehead didn't bother him. He craved that sort of affection, the kind that made him feel like he was okay and he'd been worth the fight. He needed those hugs to tell him that he was still real, he was still alive and he was going to make it. Without them, he wasn't sure where he'd be. But the very idea of a more elevated intimacy sometimes froze him in place, and he got stuck on one image and one memory of a feeling and he suddenly couldn't breathe.

Pulling his head out of that section of his brain, he looked down at his hands. “Grunkle Stan?”

“Hm?”

“Do you,” he fumbled for words, not wanted to sound too brass but also needing an answer from someone who had an inkling of what he meant, “do you ever really . . . get over it?”

After a moment, Grunkle Stan sucked in a breath through his nose and let it out through his mouth. “It depends,” was his first answer. Then he added, “I didn't. Not entirely.” Dipper felt small, thinking of how he might be stuck in this limbo-like state for good where he longed for tenderness but panicked when he received too much of it. Then Grunkle Stan interrupted his thoughts, “But I didn't have someone like your sister there reminding me constantly that I didn't have control over what happened. That I didn't bring this upon myself. I didn't have someone like Wendy trying to show me I could have some sense of normalcy again.” His uncle looked at him squarely then. “You have a better support system. For that I'm grateful.” He held up a hand, “Don't get me wrong. There are gonna be things that stay with you always. You experienced something. Something awful. Experiences always stick with you in some way.” He shrugged, looking back at the television. “It doesn't seem like it now, but once you accept that you had no control over that situation, you can actually start to regain a little bit on your life now.” There was a long pause as his great uncle's words sank in, Dipper looking back at the TV. After they'd watched part of a program and two commercials, Grunkle Stan asked, “Did that help any?”

He contemplated, then nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, it did.”

As with the constant reminding of himself that everything that had transpired wasn't his fault, he would have to keep Grunkle Stan's words in mind. But at the very least, he couldn't honestly say he was alone in this. That was the most reassuring piece of information of all.

 

A year later . . . .

“Dipper Pines, if you don't hold still I'll punch you in the face.”

“I'm choking. Can't this be a little looser? Or something?”

“This coming from the boy who thought putting on a bow tie over his normal clothes constituted as being fancy. No. This is not going to be looser.”

“I'll pass out before the night is over.”

That's how the night of Dipper's first official date with Wendy started out, Mabel choking him with a tie. Before he opened the door to greet her, Mabel stopped him again handed him an article of clothing he hadn't seen in a very long time: his hat. It was the one thing he hadn't been able to find after Bill had been banished, the one thing Bill had specified at some point that Dipper was not to wear because of his hair.

And though he was supposed to be dressed rather decently that night, Mabel insisted he put the old thing on. He held it in both hands for a minute, staring at the blue pine tree and wondering if he actually should put it on. When he finally did, something clicked and he just felt . . . right again. His nerves didn't feel so frayed and he was ready for some time spent with Wendy. Opening the door, he was greeted by . . . still the most beautiful woman he'd ever laid eyes on. 

Mabel must have planned this, because they were wearing coordinating colors. Her hair was pulled back, now long enough to be pulled back. She smiled when he saw him. “Oh my God, you're precious,” she said, cheeks flushed.

Mabel shoved him out the door, but still watched him and Wendy interact. He fumbled for words, struggling to find something to compliment. He was terrible at this. He was terrible at everything. “You, uh,” he scratched his head. “You look . . . beautiful. In a dress. All the time. I've never seen you in a dress!”

Her smile widened before she planted a kiss on his cheek that quieted him. Taking his hands in hers, she said, “I'll tell you a secret.”

“Uh huh?” he said, sweating a little at the way their hands fit together.

“I'm wearing shorts, so if we need to run later we totally can.”

He returned the smile, for the first time since the night at the hospital a year ago, he kissed her lips. He didn't freeze, and he didn't think about the shadows they were standing in or the scars on his body. He didn't think about consequences and he didn't think of who would be watching. All he thought of was her. When he pulled back, he was grinning like he'd . . . like he'd won.

Arm in arm, they moved away from the Mystery Shack and toward town. They only looked back once, and that was to laugh at the way Mabel squealed with joy with Grunkle Stan in the window giving them a thumbs up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Each of the chapters has had a title. The titles are songs. Here, have a playlist: http://8tracks.com/twofacedpsycho/the-ghost-of-you-it-keeps-me-awake
> 
> Also, if you liked Shacking Up, here have another playlist: http://8tracks.com/twofacedpsycho/shacking-up
> 
> I'm about to get personal, so if you don't like personal notes don't read.
> 
> Thank you all so much. It has been so, so encouraging to have you all commenting and telling me if it's well written. I can only hope the ending is as satisfying as the rest has been for you. I don't know if I'll ever write something like this again unless requested to, not because I don't think I wrote well. Many of you have assured me I wrote it well. This fic started out as an idea I couldn't ignore or get out of my head. In the end it became something therapeutic for me, in that most of the nightmare sequences Dipper has are based heavily on nightmares I've had for years now. I only recently stopped having them. In writing this, I've learned a great deal about myself. I hope it helps someone the way it helped me, because in writing this I learned what validation meant.
> 
> Shutting up now. Just . . . thank you all. I appreciate everything you've told and written me. I'm going to go back to my fluffy fics and give myself a break on the dark stuff.


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